Whatever Happens Tomorrow
by CountingAllTheStars
Summary: Whouffle AU. Ten years. Two people. One day. Sometimes you can live life without realising everything you have ever wanted is staring right back at you. This is the story of the Doctor and Clara over the ten most important years of their life, on the same day each year. It isn't who you grow up with which is important; it's who you grow old with.
1. 23rd November 2003

_"Whatever happens tomorrow, we'll always have today." _

- David Nicholls

* * *

The Doctor kept the book. After all these years it was still his most treasured item.

On this same day every year, the Doctor would pull out the tattered book, worn old with age, and flick reminiscently through the pages. He would smile, he would cry, he would sigh as the images flooded back over him, like a wave of warm air. In that moment private only to him, he would be transported back in time; to the sights, smells, tastes and the sweet topic of conversation. It was both his favourite hobby and the single cause for his heartache.

Then, at the end of the day, he would gently place it back in its box and slide it under the wardrobe. Gone, but not forgotten, for another year.

Yes, it was the small things that mattered to the Doctor now. It was the small things he remembered.

And it all started thirty years ago when he met Clara Oswald for the first time.

* * *

**Chapter One: 23****rd ****November 2003**

_21 years old_

Clara Oswald had heard it all before.

They said that once in your life you would meet someone and it would feel like time itself stood still. You would only talk to them for a few hours and yet it would feel like you'd known them your whole life. Some called it soul mates. It was mainly hopeful wishing that made Clara consider it could be true, but she never fully believed it.

Until she met the Doctor.

She'd seen him around university plenty of times since his circle of friends sometimes overlapped with her group of friends. But they'd never actually talked. Clara always found herself appreciating him from afar; his floppy brown hair that framed his face, his angular jaw and his eyes – his eyes which held a natural sparkle of laughter, as if he was constantly excited by everything he saw.

They were both in their final year of university now, and since they were graduating in the summer and destined to part their separate ways, it seemed a sad revelation to Clara that they hadn't found each other sooner. In fact, they probably wouldn't have started talking tonight if it wasn't for the Doctor accidentally spilling beer all over her in the local pub. Clara was determined to make the most out of her final degree year by doing activities only a student could get away with – going out for a few drinks in the late hours of Tuesday for no other reason than to get drunk. Just as Clara was staring into her lonely drink (Nina had abandoned her half an hour previously in favour of a handsome dark-haired stranger), the Doctor had bumped into her.

Ruining her dress definitely sparked the conversation. He ordered her drink after drink to make up for it, and with the flowing alcohol, the conversation flowed as well. She found out that he was studying Physics and that he came from a wealthy family, but he didn't like his background. Clara could tell from his hunched shoulders and fidgety hands that he was actually quite nervous talking to her, as if he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Their smiles grew brighter, their laughs more genuine while the conversation lengthened into the small hours of Wednesday morning.

Now it was one o'clock in a cold November setting, and the Doctor and Clara were lying side by side on the grassy hill beside the university, watching the night sky. It had been all his idea – she accepted his offer to walk her home, but during their walk they were side-tracked. A little tipsy, they thought it would be a brilliant idea to trek up the hill and observe the planet from their small space in the universe and philosophise about the future.

It really didn't feel like she only met him a few hours ago. She thought she fully knew him from their deep conversation – his ins and outs, his history, his family and his motivations.

For some reason this made her sad.

"Doctor who?" she whispered as her eyes focused on the smallest star in the sky, barely even there at all with its dull, flickering light.

She thought he sounded confused. "What?" he asked.

Turning her head to the side, the rough grass scratched against her cheek. He pulled away his gaze from the night sky to focus on her face. In the starlight he thought she was practically glowing. He found himself smiling.

"I've just realised – I don't even know your name."

"Oh." He nudged her hand with his. When she accepted it, he shook it firmly, as if he was introducing himself for the first time. "John Smith, at your service. Probably the most boring and unoriginal name out there. I'm sure that was an anti-climax."

Clara laughed and held onto his hand despite the handshake being over. He held onto her tightly, his eyes drifting back to the stars.

"Another thing," she interjected. "Why do people call you _the Doctor_?"

"It was a private joke between me and my mates. It just kind of stuck." He shrugged modestly. "I fix things. I'm good at fixing stuff."

Clara didn't really know what that meant, but she didn't want to question him further. She could sense there was something he wanted to ask.

"So, what's your plan for next year then? After graduation."

"I don't know," she sighed. "I don't have a career plan. I don't even have a future plan. I have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life."

The reality of her words crept over her as the chilly morning air tickled her skin and made her spine shiver. She kept putting off planning her first year out of university because every time she thought of it, a deep aching echo of fear and urgency overtook her senses, making her heart race and her head feel dizzy. Once again she could feel it pricking at her heart, so she removed the focus of the question from her. "What about you? I'm sure you have it all planned out."

His thumb stroked her hand to silently soothe her. "Suppose I do. I'm going travelling."

"Travelling?"

"Yeah. All around the world. I want to see this sky" – he raised their joined hands to point out in front of them – "in a hundred different countries. Just to see what it's like. Hopefully when I come back I'll know what to do with my life."

Clara's nose scrunched up. "You're hopelessly poetic."

He laughed. Flipping over on his side, he leaned on his elbow and propped himself up to stare at her. She didn't look at him this time, and he was glad. He could see all of the individual glittering stars in her glassy brown eyes. It transfixed him. "You study English. I'm sure there's a poet bursting to get out of you too. Or are you jealous?"

"I whole-heartedly bow down to your superior poetic-ness. Is that even a word?"

The Doctor scoffed. "You tell me!"

"Anyway," she said, watching him watch her. "I'd love to go travelling. It's always been my dream. But it's far too expensive, I could never afford it."

"That's a shame. I'm going on my own; I could've used a friend." He broke their eye contact as he felt awkward nerves creeping up on him again. Suddenly he was fascinated with the grass. "If only I knew you sooner."

"Well then," she said, also propping herself onto her elbows to get a better look at him. Their faces were only inches apart. "Get to know me now. Make up for lost time."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. The words were on the tip of his tongue and yet he was struggling to form a sentence. He kept his gaze trained on a strand of her hair which was dancing on its own in the breeze while he repositioned himself to a more comfortable position. Clara waited patiently, a little amused by his hesitance. She could quite easily help him out in this, but she wanted to see him do it by himself.

"Tomorrow," he started, holding her hand in both of his. "Spend the whole day with me tomorrow."

Clara, intending to be difficult, corrected, "I think you mean today. It's past midnight."

"Well, I always class the beginning of a new day after the first light of dawn," he shot back, voice still racked with nerves. "So what's your answer?"

She considered him for a few moments. She pulled herself into a sitting position, directly in front of him, and showed him her brightest grin. "What will we do?"

The Doctor would've laughed in spite of himself – if someone had told him yesterday that today he would ask out Clara Oswald and she would say yes, he never would've believed them. "Anything!" he replied enthusiastically. "Anything and everything. Anywhere and everywhere. Let's pretend, for one whole day, the world is ours."

Clara leaned into him, her eyes feeling heavy and tired. He wrapped his arm loosely around her shoulders and lay back on the grass. She rested her head over his heart and kept her hand on his stomach, silently excited for what was to come. The Doctor held her closer, keeping her warm, and his eyes drifted back to the endless possibilities written in the sky.

"We'll make up for lost time," he promised in a whisper.

Nodding against his warmth, Clara closed her eyes and prepared to dream of tomorrow. "We'll make up for lost time."

* * *

** Note: Hello, hope you enjoyed the first chapter! The Doctor and Clara's first day together won't be revisited until the very end of the story, which is why this chapter is so short. You might've already noticed by now that the concept of this story is loosely based on the wonderful masterpiece **_**One Day**_** by David Nicholls. But don't worry – other than that it is going to be completely original. Every chapter is going to be set on the same day only a year later, which might not sound interesting now, but trust me, it's going to be good. I don't own **_**Doctor Who**_**, or its characters, and credit must go to Nicholls for his line 'Ten years. Two people. One day.' Reviews, follows and favourites would be so amazing – if people show enough interest, I will upload the next chapter in the next two days. Thank you for reading! **


	2. 23rd November 2004

**A/N: So here is the next chapter as promised! One year later, one exactly the same day. Massive thank you for all the followers, favourites and reviews, you guys are the best. In particular, the wonderful reviewers: Foeseeker, sassywriterchick, UchichaHakura64, Anonalways, Wow, oswaldoswinclara, saharajohanson, orchids117, Abby0512, XxSnowyDreamsxX, Noirthrus, Dede42, Someone and ThePotterDoctor – who should really get a special mention for encouraging me with this story. As ever, reviews would be absolutely amazing! You're brilliant bunch. Enjoy! **

** Chapter Two: 23****rd**** November 2004**

_22 years old_

Clara was waiting in the airport with a large poster in her hand which read:

"I have an appointment with my Doctor."

Incredibly cheesy as it may be, she could not wait to see the beaming buckets of joy it brought to her best friend's face. Her best friend who she had not seen for three months.

Oh god, she missed him. She missed him more than anything. Clara couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when she started to rely on the Doctor, but it never ceased to amaze her. When they met (around a year ago, wasn't it?) they had instantly became such a big part in each others lives. A day didn't go by that Clara didn't see the Doctor in one way or the other.

For the past three months the Doctor had been travelling around the world, popping back home every few weeks for a few days to catch up with friends and family. After spending the whole summer together it was hard for Clara to only see him one day every few weeks, and even then, they were usually interrupted by other excited friends wanting a piece of the Doctor's attention. So it was three months since they'd had a proper chat, and Clara was more than ready to have one.

He had been sending her postcards and pictures from all of his travels. In return, she sent him long letters, updating him on what was going on in her life – from the personal to the general. In contrast to the Doctor sending her photos of Beijing at night, or the Caribbean coast simmering on the hot horizon, Clara's part-time job and petty problems seemed small and insignificant. The Doctor was living the dream while Clara was barely dreaming at all.

He was one of the last to leave the plane. There he was – trailing his large suitcase and showcasing a rough beard on his big chin and wearing bulky well-travelled boots. His twinkling eyes roamed over the crowds waiting for their loved ones until they finally landed on Clara.

At the same time, they both bent over laughing. They ran towards each other, arms outstretched, Clara dropping her stupid poster and the Doctor disregarding his belongings. His strong arms wrapped around her small waist and heaved her into the air, spinning her around. Clara shrieked as she giggled, pressing a soft kiss into his haggard hair.

When he eventually let go, Clara took his hand and faced him. They were beaming at one another, neither quite knowing what to say first.

"I love the beard," Clara finally said, pointing with her free hand up to him.

He looked taken aback for a few seconds. He scratched his chin, as if noticing it for the first time. "I would say I did it on purpose," he confessed. "But I lost my razor."

Clara laughed. "You look good! Really good. I've never seen you with a tan."

"And what about you! You look amazing – not like you don't always look amazing. But you do. You look amazing." Feeling his face turn hot, he coughed and picked up his suitcase before swiftly changing the conversation. "What do you want to do today?"

"Well, I thought you'd want to see your family this morning. So tonight, we could –"

"Clara," he interrupted. He pulled on her hand and grimaced. "I told my parents I was arriving tomorrow."

Frowning, she echoed, "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I" – he glanced to the floor, a little embarrassed – "haven't seen you in ages. I thought if I told everyone I'm coming home a day later, we could have the whole day to ourselves. You know, have a well deserved catch up."

Clara felt truly touched. With a little pang of her heart, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth with her hand stroking his prickly face. "I've missed you," she whispered.

"I've missed you too, Clara Oswald." He draped his arm around her shoulder to keep her close. "Now, what do you say we get lunch somewhere nice? I'm absolutely craving a coffee!"

* * *

Clara ordered a caramel Frappuccino, insisting she didn't want anything else. The Doctor knew her too well and ordered her a toasted panini while he had black coffee and a large fry. Money was tight for Clara, neither of them just wanted to say it. Clara hated that the Doctor bought her little things, as if he was trying to make up for their financial differences, but she also knew there was nothing she could do to stop him. So she accepted the toasted chicken panini with a small word of thanks and a sideways glare, to which he merely sniggered.

The Doctor breathed out a sigh of relief as he took a large sip of his coffee, the happiness clear on his face. Clara rolled her eyes.

"You're still working in that shop, I take it?" he asked lightly, inspecting his cutlery.

Clara tensed. "Why? Since I can't afford to waste money on Paninis that are too expensive?"

He met her gaze, shaking his head. "No need to get defensive, Clara."

"I know what's going to come next. You're going to tell me –"

"That you're too good to be working in a shop. And it's the truth. Someone needs to encourage you to do better. I know it doesn't make you happy."

"I'm _trying_, Doctor." She covered her face with her hands. The irritation was growing in her stomach every time her father or her best friend brought up this conversation. "For the fifteenth time, English degrees aren't popular at the minute. I have no clue what to do."

He raised his eyebrows and scoffed down the fried egg, whole. While Clara grimaced in distaste, the Doctor pointed his fork at her, saying, "You can always come travelling with me. After Christmas."

"No," Clara said, firmly. How many times had he offered? "You help me out enough. Anymore and it's just scandalous."

As Clara took a large bite from her panini, the Doctor smiled contently at her, very nearly smug. "Tell me how you've been. I want to hear everything. Every little thing you've been doing since I've been away."

"I'd much rather hear about your adventures," she admitted.

"I haven't spoken to you properly in months; I just want to hear your voice."

He was looking down at his plate again which signalled to Clara he was embarrassed by his own honesty. Feeling that she now had the upper hand, she leaned forward slightly so that her elbows crossed the space between them. "Okay, so… As you know, I'm working in the shop. I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life but at least working there gives me a focus and some well-needed income."

"It prevents you from moving forward and doing what you should be doing – being excellent in everything," the Doctor translated, matter-of-factly.

Clara narrowed her eyes. "Is the purpose of this so you can constantly correct me or do you genuinely want to hear my voice?"

"Sorry. Continue."

Clara mused over the next part; she wasn't sure whether or not to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything, but there were two things in particular she didn't really want him knowing. One for judgement and the other… Well, she would rather get the judgement over with first.

"Sandra, my manager, is leaving."

"Oh?"

"She wants me to take over."

The Doctor nearly spat out his bacon. "She what?!"

There it was.

"But you've only been there a few months!"

Sighing, clearly exasperated, Clara explained, "She says I have potential. No one else in our department really has the qual –"

He interrupted her. "Clara, if you don't get out now, you're never going to get out. If you accept this position you'll never end up leaving. It'll suck you in."

"And what about you, Doctor? You can't travel forever. One day you're going to have to settle, like it or not. And then you'll realise how hard it is," Clara argued, feeling a little sad that her best friend in the entire world couldn't support her in this. No, she didn't want to be manager of a stupid shop. But she also didn't know what else she would do – she could barely afford to live on the money she was earning, never mind find the time to job hunt for a proper career. This was a good opportunity, and as Clara didn't have a lot of good options at the moment, this was the best chance she had.

And yet deep down, Clara knew the Doctor was right. She wouldn't be able to get out of that stupid shop if she stayed for much longer. For all she knew, Sandra had been in her position – twenty two and fresh out of university, looking for a part time job. What age was she now? Was she finally moving on for that reason?

The Doctor, realising he had probably stepped over the mark, dropped his fork and stroked Clara's arm over the table. "I didn't mean to criticise, I just worry about you," he explained quietly. "You're right; of course, I can't run away from settling down forever. They tell you once you go to university and get a good agree that you'll be sorted for life. The world will be your oyster. It's almost laughable how far away from the truth that is. It's cruel to give so many people all that false hope."

Clara's frown softened. She leaned into his touch. "Are we going to join another socialist revolution movement like we did last year?" she joked.

He gave a loud laugh at the memory. "Oh, good times. We should definitely do that again." Lifting his fork, the Doctor stared at his baked beans, carefully scooping them up with his knife. There was a question he wanted to ask Clara more than anything – something that had been in the back of his mind ever since Jack had confided in him about it. _Go for it_, he told himself_, now or never. Even if it's not what you want to hear, it's better than not knowing at all._

In a tone a pitch too high, he asked, "Anything else you want to tell me about?"

Clara stiffened a little. "Nothing majorly important I can think of."

The Doctor kept his gaze down. "I hear from – well, a friend – that you've been seeing Danny."

Clara's eyes widened and she almost dropped her panini. She _really_ hadn't expected the Doctor to know about that. She could feel her cheeks turn to pink and her voice shake. How was she going to approach this? She didn't want to put her foot in her mouth. This was going to be difficult.

"Oh, um, sort of. A bit," she said flatly.

"A bit?" _Damn, why was his voice sounding too odd?_

"Yeah, well, you know. It's not serious," she added quickly. Thinking she said it _too_ quickly, she put in, "Not yet, anyway."

"Not yet, I see." The Doctor coughed and swallowed his forkful of beans whole. Clara watched him, her cheek twitching. She couldn't really read how he was taking this bit of news – if he cared or he was just curious. But it bothered her.

Clara and the Doctor nearly had something. Together. A year ago. They were the best of friends, yes, and yet both of them knew that they could be so much more. The potential was there in everyway. Neither of them had seized it yet. It always hung in the air whenever they were together, like a fact written in a history book, just waiting to be confirmed. When the Doctor was away travelling, he felt _so_ far away. She knew it was a strong possibility that he might not be the same person when he came back, or he could meet someone abroad and lose him forever. Her fears felt like they were coming true when she had seen him a grand total of three times during the last three months – only long enough for brief small talk before he was rushed off to somewhere else. He couldn't really blame her for trying to move on when he was actively moving on, intending to keep her in mind or not.

Now that he had returned the same as ever, with no extra baggage, Clara slightly regretted being too hasty. Maybe she should've waited longer.

It was too late now.

"Listen, Doctor," Clara began, not really sure why she wanted to explain, or why she felt she needed to. "You were away and I –"

"Clara, don't. It's fine." He glanced up at her, his eyes seemingly sincere. "We're best friends, right? Always there for each other no matter what."

For some reason, his words stung. Overly cheery, Clara nodded. "Yeah. Right. Best friends."

Suddenly in a rush to get out of this intimate setting, the Doctor dramatically changed the conversation. "What do you say we finish up here and get a few drinks? Celebrate our friendship, eh?"

Clara glanced at her watch. "It's not even three yet!"

His brow raised and he looked at her with disbelief. "Since when has that stopped us?"

Clara couldn't help but chuckle. "You are _such_ a bad influence."

* * *

The Doctor was Clara's favourite drinking buddy.

It wasn't because he was a heavy drinker, or could even handle his drink – it was because the two of them could find anything funny sober, so, when they were slightly tipsy, they seemed to believe anything was possible.

She'd found that out the first night she met him when they trekked up the hill to philosophise under the night sky.

Nothing had changed since. The Doctor downed a beer, Clara downed a cocktail and then they were off to find their first adventure. They ended up in an eccentric nightclub on the edge of town. The walls were decorated with spray-painted creations, the seats were empty barrels filled with cushions and empty beer bottles were tied to the ceiling with little pieces of string, creating an aurora of brown and green.

The Doctor ordered them more drinks while Clara found them a seat. The only empty barrelled-chairs were the ones right beside the speakers playing alternative chart songs, situated beside the frosted glass windows. When the Doctor returned with drinks appearing more like concoctions, they had to shout to hear each other.

"What is it?"

"I don't know!" he said. "I just asked them for their best cider. They gave me this."

Clara peered into the bottom of the pink-orange drink. "It doesn't look like cider!"

The Doctor took a swig. He shook his head and stuck out his tongue. "Guess what – it doesn't taste like cider either!"

Just behind them, a new song played through the speakers. The Doctor jumped up, as if he were electrocuted and pulled on Clara's hand. "I love this song! Clara – Clara, dance with me!"

She laughed and pushed him away. "No one else is dancing!"

"Great – it gives us more room!"

In the end, she didn't have much say in the situation. The Doctor dragged her to the middle of the floor and spun her about, jerking and jiving in and out of rhythm. He was so utterly terrible and horrifically embarrassing that Clara fell into uncontrollable stitches of giggling. She was rooted to the spot, hands gripping her stomach as it hurt with each new giggle, the tears streaming down her face. The Doctor started to dance around her, his arms in the air and his head rocking back and forth.

"I call this one the drunk giraffe!" he told her as he circled her once more.

Everyone was staring at them, and she was pretty sure they were about to be thrown out, when the Doctor toppled to the side and fell onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. Clara, laughing too hard to help him, almost fell on top of him. Beaming, he pushed himself to his feet and led her back to the bar, his breathing heavy from the effort.

"I missed you so much," Clara told him honestly. "I can't believe you're leaving again!"

"I always miss you, Clara. Every minute of every day. You're always here" – he gestured to his forehead – "in my mind. I don't think I'll ever get rid of you."

With tears of compassion in her eyes now, Clara asked for two shots from the bar staff. The man passed her two small cups, pouring in the clear alcohol with a skilful flick of his wrist. Clara passed the Doctor one and kept the other, raising it in the air for a toast.

"You're parents are going to know, you know," she said. "You're going to be hungover tomorrow and then they'll realise you lied to them."

He shrugged and lifted his shot to match the level of hers. "I'll thoroughly apologise. I didn't mean to leave them – or my other friends – behind today. I just really wanted to see you. Have you all to myself."

Smiling, Clara clinked her small glass against his. "Then a toast to those left behind!"

"To those left behind!" the Doctor echoed, downing the shot in one.

And as the alcohol stung Clara's chest, her mind wandered into the unguarded territory of the future she would have with the Doctor. Where would they be this time next year? Would Clara still be working in the shop? Or would she pack it in altogether? What about the Doctor, what would he be doing?

But, overall, she didn't want to linger on the future for too long. She wanted to enjoy the now, this precious moment with her best friend, and make memories that wouldn't just last tonight – but last a lifetime.


	3. 23rd November 2005

**A/N: Big thank you to my wonderful reviewers: sassywriterchick, ImpossibleClara9, Foeseeker, sillysouffle, LostLyra, librarykate, Wow, Anonalways, Oswin smith, Dede42, orchids117, OhMyStarsShiz, XxSnowyDreamsxX and the lovely ThePotterDoctor. Reviews mean the world and they always make me smile so please keep them coming! Enjoy this one! **

** Chapter Three: 23****rd**** November 2005**

_23 years old_

The Doctor stared into the mirror and sucked in a large, shaky breath. He fixed his bowtie again, and again, more out of nervous habit than because it wasn't in position. Everything about him was polished perfect. He didn't have a hair out of place, a single crease in his purple suit and his shoes were shining black, so glassy he could see his own reflection.

Today was a very important day for the Doctor. He had a job interview.

That's right, he was finally growing up. After almost a year of travelling, he had taken Clara's advice. If he didn't stop running away from adult life now, he never would.

So, for the past few months, the Doctor had been taking matters into his own hands. He'd rekindled his passion for anything and everything to do with Physics, and in particular, creating his own inventions. Many Saturday nights, instead of hitting the town and painting it an electric shade of blue, the Doctor would convince Clara to stay in with him and assist in the experiments of his newly invented creations. She was always impressed, and a little bit bored, but helped him out all the same. It was partly due to Clara that he had an interview tonight. She was the one to encourage him to send in his blueprints of all of his inventions to a new and upcoming industry delving into the uncharted realms of technology: Gallifrey Industries. Without her seal of approval and thorough prep talks, the Doctor wasn't sure if he would be standing in this suit at all.

He had called her earlier for a quick phone call; one last chance to hear her words of enthusiasm. It didn't exactly go to plan, however. Clara's cheerfulness was obviously faked and her words were dull underneath their truer meaning. He wasn't an idiot. The Doctor knew her better than anybody. Something was wrong and she wasn't prepared to open up about it.

Even though he felt bad about it, he didn't have enough time to ask her what was wrong yet. He'd call her up tomorrow, arrange to take her out for lunch and then squeeze the problem out of her. Besides, the Doctor might know by then whether or not he has a new job.

And if he has, it's definitely all down to Clara. He would make sure to treat her well.

Half an hour later he was in his car, pulling up in the car park outside Gallifrey Industries. It was a tall building, wide too, and completely made out of glass. No where to hide. The Doctor felt his lip twitch and a sudden and fleeting urge to jump in his car and drive far away over took him. But this could be his only shot. This could be his big break. Did he really want to live the rest of his life in regret? Regretting this moment forever?

The thought of this fuelled his steps towards the entrance, drove him forwards to the smiling secretary and steeled his determination as he followed her directions to the meeting room amongst the offices. His knock on the oaken door was strong and clear – with one more deep breath, the Doctor pushed through and thrust his hand into the waiting handshake of the manager in charge.

He was shocked when it was a woman. Not because of some sexist ideology in his head, no – but because he had been prepared for the iron clasp he would have to return. Instead, he was greeted with a sweet smile and a smooth grasp. Firm but soft at the same time.

"And you must be John Smith," the woman said without any question.

The Doctor drank in her appearance. She was about the same height as him, or perhaps it was her refined posture that made her appear taller. Her smile was sweet and sultry at the same time, and the Doctor briefly considered whether this was on purpose or if she realised she was doing it at all. She had large curly hair, brushing against her shoulders, and she wore a tightly fitted suit to emphasize her curves.

"I'm Professor River Song," she announced, as if it was of great importance. "Would you like to take a seat, Mr Smith?"

The Doctor stuttered. "Yeah, I – uh – should probably sit down. Right, yes. Thank you."

He nodded at the rest of the panel of people watching his interview and smoothed down his trousers for something to do with his hands. River Song sat directly in front of him, her gaze smouldering. She took a moment to review her notes, and from a file being assessed by her colleague, she picked up his CV attached to his blueprints.

"So, Mr Smith, I would just like to start this interview by saying how very impressed we all were by your collection. Your notes are very detailed – exactly the kind of thing we need for this business to work." She paused to study him now. "What could _you_ bring to Gallifrey Industries?"

The Doctor considered this for a moment. He could play this two ways; he could be honest and modest and play it safe, or he could talk a big game. This was going to be a big business. They didn't want honest and modest. They wanted something to sell.

He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, and with his most charming smile, answered, "I can give you things you've never seen before."

* * *

Clara wore her best fake smile when Danny picked her up that evening.

They were going on a date.

Which Clara hoped to be their last.

She'd been musing over it for the last few weeks and now she'd finally made a decision. She and Danny's relationship had ended a while ago. They'd fallen into a habit, and not a particularly fun one; she had the feeling they were only together for convenience rather than actual affection. It bothered her more than she cared to admit and yet she couldn't find the strength to say the right words.

But tonight – tonight she would. When the Doctor had called her earlier, she was so tempted to say to him. Tonight was his night, it was an important interview for him, and Clara didn't want to say anything to distract him from that.

She briefly talked to Nina about it to see what her other close friend would say. Nina confessed she thought it was a bad idea. Danny was a good guy, she said, and Clara was lucky to have him. So what if their relationship had lost its flame? They could quite easily rekindle it. And then Nina dropped this onto her;

"Clara, is this because of the Doctor?"

She almost dropped her hairbrush. "Is it – what? What do you mean? Why would this have anything to do with _him_?"

"Defensive!" Nina noted. She sighed, and explained, "Well, is it really a coincidence that the Doctor promises he's going to settle and not travel anymore, and then, all of a sudden, you realise you're not happy with Danny?"

_ No_, Clara wanted to shout_, it wasn't a coincidence at all! _She'd been unhappy for a while. The Doctor staying or going was held no influence over her, whatsoever. They were their own person. They weren't joined together in any way other than being the best of friends.

Yet, there was a small part in the corner of Clara's heart that told her this wasn't strictly true. The Doctor staying _did_ have a small influence in decision.

When Clara didn't answer – purely because she was thinking it over rather than confessing, Nina added, "You're inseparable. But does that mean you'd be good as a couple? I think –"

"Wow, wow, wow, Nina! Stop right there! Please! I certainly do _not_ fancy the Doctor and he has _doesn't_ fancy me either, okay?" she raised her hand in defence, despite Nina not being able to see her. "Let's pretend this conversation never happened."

"If you say so…"

"Yes, I do. All I wanted was a little advice on how to break up with Danny. That's all I wanted."

After speaking to Nina, Clara felt more confused than she did resolved. Nina really hadn't cleared her head on the topic, nor given her proper advice. Clara couldn't really blame her, she supposed, since Nina was good friends with Danny as well. This was bound to be awkward for her, causing her to hold back.

She jumped when she heard Danny's car horn beeping from outside. She was kind of glad Danny had given up on chivalry a long time ago – calling up to her apartment or walking her do the door. To Clara, who was grasping at every excuse she could find, it proved that Danny maybe wasn't feeling as strongly about her anymore as well. Well, she was going to find out soon enough anyway.

They were going to the usual restaurant in the centre of the city. It used to be an event, the two of them going here, but now it felt more like chore. They took their usual seat that they reserved each week and Danny ordered the same meal each time. Clara decided she was going to go for something different, something a little cheaper than usual, since tonight was not going to end with happy kisses and declarations of love. She hadn't any idea how Danny was going to react.

"So how were the kids today?" Danny asked casually.

Clara had quit her job in the shop the same time she was offered the position of manager by Sandra. While she was visiting a family friend, the tone of bad news hit the family. Their mother had died, leaving two children and a husband behind, completely at a loss of how to continue with normal life. Clara had promised to help them out until they got back to their usual selves, and in return, Mr Maitland paid her for her effort. Clara insisted she was doing it out of kindness, but Mr Maitland also pointed out that it would prohibit her finding a proper job or career during the months she stayed with them.

"And if you ever need a job reference, Clara," he had told her, "you can count on me."

"Angie is still blocking the world out," Clara answered, her voice sounding duller than usual. "I think Artie is slowly making process. He was laughing today. It was nice."

Danny nodded. "Good. That's good."

"How's teacher training?"

"Oh, you know. Same old."

Clara smiled as their gazes met, but she knew it wasn't very convincing. Danny pointed at her, resting his chin on his hand. "You know, have you ever considered teaching? You seem to be good with kids."

It felt as if someone had lit a light bulb in Clara's mind and now she was seeing everything in high-definition. Yeah, she was good with kids. She was brilliant with children, in fact. Teaching? She really had never considered it before. Clara loved learning, and she loved caring for people. What do you get when you combine the two? A teacher. A role model. A figure with the potential of inspiration on a young person's mind, someone who could really change your life.

"I hadn't considered it before, but now you mention it... Maybe following a career in education wouldn't such a bad idea." She was genuinely touched. "Thanks Danny."

He simply grinned with a quick nod. Clara heaved in a breath, urging herself to say it now. Get it over with. She dropped her knife and fork and crossed her arms, watching Danny for a few seconds as he chewed his steak. Closing her eyes, Clara gushed, "Danny, we need to talk."

It took him a moment to realise what she was saying. His mouth popped open and his eyebrows disappeared to the top of his forehead. "We need to – we do?"

"Yeah. We do." There was no going back now. Clara's food was stirring in the bottom of her stomach. "I don't… think we're working anymore."

"What?!" Danny barked.

Clara flinched. She hadn't expected angry. She'd prepared for crying, for agreeing, for indifference. But not angry. "I feel like we're more convenient than actually –"

"We _are_ good, Clara!" Danny argued, his eyes alight with fury and a shadow of hurt. "I'm twenty four. You're twenty three. I'm going to be a professional teacher in a few months, what do you expect us to do? Party like we're back at university? We're growing up, that's what happens. We still have fun. Some people we used to know now have kids, for god's sake!"

The very thought made Clara wince. "I'm not asking for us to go back to behaving like students. I'm just saying that what we are doing, is a bit –"

"Boring? Dull? What _adults_ do?" Danny scoffed in her face and leaned back in his chair. "Would you prefer me to be cheating on you behind your back?! Am I too _safe_, is that it? You know, Clara, you're always telling the Doctor that he needs to grow up, but in reality, it's _you_ who needs to grow up."

"Grow up?" Clara repeated. "I don't think it's much cause for concern yet – I'm only twenty three. I'm still deciding what I want to do with my life! And if you would let me finish a bloody sentence, then I might be able to tell you why I don't think this is working. Typical Danny, always jumping to conclusions. Not caring what I have to say. Well, I'm sick of it. Maybe this is me growing up, hm? Maybe I'm deciding that I don't need you to do it!"

She didn't mean to match his anger, but the topic of getting older always hit a nerve. Not that Clara was worried for vanity reasons – it was more to do with the fact all of her university friends had moved on, started families, or were already on their chosen career path. Clara was wandering around the wilderness of opportunities, like she was eighteen all over again and making the biggest decision of her future. At this rate, Clara felt like she would be ten years older and still completely and utterly lost. The thought was terrifying.

And Danny knew that. He'd used it against her.

Danny swiped up his napkin and threw it on the table. He straightened his shirt and shot her one last angry glare. But there were tears in his eyes, tears neither of them would let themselves recognise. "Well then, good luck in life, Clara," he spat, slamming his chair into the table. "Thanks for absolutely nothing."

* * *

The Doctor's interview had just ended.

The room held that awkward silence – something that only occurs once a conversation has ended and everyone is waiting for someone to speak first, for someone to end it. The Doctor took it upon himself, thinking it was one last chance at making a good impression, to speak up and ask a question that he was musing over in his head before the interview had even started.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," he said, "but when will I hear back from you with the decision?"

"Oh," River Song said, shooting him a wicked grin. "We can tell you right now, if you want."

His mouth opened in a small 'o' and his eyebrows pulled together. This was sure to be bad news. Decisions usually took weeks – days at the least. Had he come across as too arrogant? Too self-assured? He was about to swear at himself, when River explained;

"You see, Mr Smith, we'd already made our decision when we received your blueprints. We just wanted to see the man behind the plan, as it were. See if he was someone we could work side by side with."

The Doctor stuttered, "A- And?"

River held her hand out over the table again for another handshake. "Welcome to Gallifrey Industries, John Smith. You're part of the team."

"What! I – oh – thank you, I can't believe" – he stopped himself, realising he was coming over as gushy and unprofessional – "I mean, thank you for this opportunity, I won't let you down."

A man at the end of the table passed down a white sheet full of writing – the contract. The Doctor accepted it with a nod. The first thing his eyes noticed was a large pound sign at the top of the page, with a hefty sum of money printed beside it. His brain took a moment to understand it's meaning, and when he did, he let out a large breath.

"We hope your salary is sufficient," the man added.

The Doctor gulped. "Yes. I believe so."

It didn't take much thought for the Doctor to sign the agreement. He was basically being offered his dream job – the chance to advance technology, to work on his own inventions and also get paid a pretty price for it.

He was buying Clara everything tomorrow. They were going to have a feast.

He passed the paper back up to the man who was already getting to his feet. "Drinks!" he declared. "Celebratory drinks to welcome the new boy! What does everyone say?"

So, the Doctor let himself be swept away with the graceful hands of Gallifrey, opening his arms with a happy heart to the newest chapter of his life.

* * *

Danny, in all his anger, had left Clara to pay the bill at the restaurant. The bill she couldn't really afford.

To top this off, now she didn't have a lift home. She'd spent the last of her money on the abandoned food and so, couldn't even afford a taxi back home. She was wandering the street, at a loss of what to do, feeling utterly helpless and stranded. Clara shivered against the cold and pulled her jacket further across her chest, her eyes darting left and right as she tried to think up a plan, someone she could call on, anything.

That was when she spotted a phone box across the street. Clara retrieved her purse from her bag and unzipped the coin pocket. She had exactly two pounds left – enough to make a phone call. She darted in between the traffic, knowing exactly who she would call on – besides; she knew his number off by heart.

Clara slipped the coin into the slot and quickly typed in the number.

It took a moment to connect.

_ Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring. _

"Come on, Doctor, pick up!" Clara whispered into the handset.

A voice answered her. But it wasn't the voice she wanted right now.

_"We're sorry,"_ the recorded female voice said, _"this number cannot be reached at this time."_

Clara sank against the glass box, the black phone pressed against her chest as the tears fell freely from her eyes. "Please, Doctor. I need you."


	4. 23rd November 2006

**A/N: The thing is about growing up, you can change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst. Sometimes you can't even see it. But, this doesn't mean you lose who you are. For a time in your life (whether due to experience or not) we just get lost. You can find yourself again. What I wanted to do with this chapter, however, was to capture how it felt when it happens to someone close to you, and you're at a complete loss of what to do. Massive hugs and thank yous to everyone reviewing (and reading) you're so wonderful I can't put it into words: Noirthrus, DancingWithTheDoctor, Foeseeker, ImpossibleClara9, sillysouffle, NoLongerAGuest, XxSnowyDreamsxX, Guest, Hi Anonalways, saharajohanson, bloomingredroses, orchids117, Dede42, Abby0512x, OswinSmith, sasswriterchick, Someone, OhMyStarsShiz and ThePotterDoctor.**

** Chapter Four: 23****rd**** November 2006**

_24 years old_

The Doctor had a busy schedule today.

He slept in late due to another hangover. He'd missed his nine o'clock meeting, but he was sure River would let it slide. If he rushed, he'd still be able to make his lunch date with Clara.

The noticeboard on the opposite end of his room called out to him like an untimely surprise. He'd been doing anything he could to forget what he had arranged for later – one of the reasons why he was seeing Clara in half an hour was in the hope that she could make the situation better before he had to face it. As he slumped out of bed and crossed the room, his eyes fixated on the circled number. He shuddered and turned away, resolving to eventually get dressed.

In his smartest shirt with the open collar, the Doctor hopped into his fancy sports car, briefly admiring how the deep blue tint shone in the cold November sun. Clara had an hour off for lunch, and even though it wasn't much, the Doctor was glad for any time he could snatch to spend with her. They were both so busy lately, each going their separate ways, and now they were only seeing each other once or twice a month. The Doctor's life was moving too quickly that he didn't even notice the time flying by, and yet, he anticipated the next day he would see his best friend, never knowing how long it would be until they both could do it again.

He saw her sitting at an antique wooden table with a straw chair, sipping on a bright red drink. He stood there for a moment, locking his car, and appreciating her from afar. Her hair was longer now; compared to the last time he'd seen her. Or, maybe, he just didn't notice last time. Maybe he hadn't taken the time to notice. The thought felt like a dead weight in his head, and so, he pushed it back to the furthest corner of his mind with all of the other unwanted worries and concerns he was trying to ignore.

She spotted him across the street and gave him a small wave with her brightest smile.

The Doctor desperately hoped Clara wouldn't notice he had a hangover. It seemed every time they met up he was sporting one like a badge of honour. He was scared she thought it was becoming a problem.

Maybe it _was_ a problem and that's why he was scared. If Clara said it, then…

"Clara!" he greeted enthusiastically, pulling her into a large, open armed hug. "God, I miss you!"

She pulled away to get a proper look at him. She quirked an eyebrow and pointed to his open shirt. "I think I preferred the bowtie," she commented.

"Oh, and there was me expecting an 'I miss you too.'"

Playfully, she slapped his arm. "Of course I miss you! I text you every day, don't I?"

It was the Doctor's turn to smirk. "_Attempt_ to text me. I still don't think you've mastered the art of working a mobile phone, Clara."

She brushed it off and sat back down. "Whatever. I can't see them sticking around long, anyway. Probably just another fad in technology."

He took his seat directly facing her and shrugged out of his jacket. Clara watched him carefully before their eyes met, analysing everything little thing about him. There was no doubting he was different – a shift in his posture, a slightly different pronunciation in his tone. And his eyes – his eyes always held nothing but tired sadness.

She knew why, of course. But that didn't make it any easier to accept.

The waiter returned to their table and Clara smiled up at him. The Doctor shifted in his chair when he was asked what he would have to drink. Clara frowned.

"I'll have a vodka and tonic, please," he said with a nod.

When the waiter disappeared, the Doctor dropped his gaze to his hands. Clara leaned back on her chair, crossed her arms and pierced him a look. "Vodka at lunch?" she questioned casually.

He met her persistent stare. "I haven't had a drink in a while," he lied.

"Really? You look tired."

"Up all night… working."

Okay, so he was going to lie to her. That hurt a lot more than she expected.

He quickly changed the conversation. "How's teacher training going?"

"Good, it's going good." Clara couldn't help but smile. "I think I've finally found what I'm good at. What I'd like to do as a career. It feels nice, I feel calmer."

"I'm glad for you, _Miss_ Oswald," he said with a wink. "I can just imagine you this time next year with a proper little desk and a proper little whiteboard and a proper little apple on your proper little –"

"Oh no," she interrupted in a tone that was only half serious, "I won't be a serious teacher at all. Traditional isn't my style."

"No?"

"No, I'm thinking multi-coloured walls decorated with hippy signs, and just before I teach my class the morality in every book we read, I'll gather them all in a friendship circle so we can meditate and appreciate the value of Mother Nature. Instead of homework, I'll get them all to find their favourite leaf and then write a poem on it. Instead of detentions, they can sit in a daffodil circle and let the fairies tell them what they did wrong."

The Doctor laughed – it was the first time he'd genuinely laughed in ages. "So you're going to be a weirdo then?"

"I think the proper term is _New Age_," she corrected, taking another sip of her drink. Then, her tone changed. "But what about your job? How's River?"

He took a moment to compose himself. The waiter arrived with his drink, and as the glass was placed on the right corner of his table, he had an urge to down it in one go. Before the waiter ducked away, he muttered a word that sounded like 'thanks' while still focusing on ignoring the clear liquid. Clara pulled him back into reality.

"I think 'job' and 'River' are mutually exclusive. That's why I tend to use them in the same sentence."

"Job is good. Making major progress and profit. River is… River."

Clara shrugged. "I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing."

He breathed out an exasperated sigh and suddenly his dilemma with the drink was forgotten. "Clara, I know you disapprove of me and River's relationship because of the age gap, _but _–"

"_And_ because I think she's leading you on. I think she's using you. She doesn't intend to stick around forever, I can tell."

"I really don't think she is!"

Clara leaned forward with her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows high as she argued her point. She didn't want to see her best friend hurt – he was so naïve sometimes, so gullible. People like River would eat him up and then spit him out. "So, you're telling me, if you ended the relationship you'd still have a pretty little pay sum and an elevated position in the company?"

"Clara, drop it, okay? I'm happy. I'm happy!" he shouted in defence, raising his hands up in surrender. He sounded the furthest thing from happy, he sounded the exact opposite. It was clear for everyone to hear.

She let her irritation subside. She could see her best friend's eyes tearing up as he glanced away, his lip slightly trembling. Clara backed down, her heart throbbing for him.

"We both know that's not true, though, is it, Doctor?" she asked, reaching across the table to hold his hand. "Now tell me the reason why you _really_ wanted to see me today."

He met her gaze again, this time his eyes were a little harder. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid. I'm free tomorrow, you're free tomorrow. But, no, you wanted to meet up today. When I only have an hour free. Why is that?"

The Doctor sank into his chair, appearing as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear. His eyes were cloudy, glazed over, liked he'd prefer to ignore everything he was feeling, everything he didn't want to fear instead of face it on his own. That was simultaneously the good thing about Clara and the bad – she knew without being explicitly told what the problem was, and yet she wanted him to say it in order to see how far this was pushing him.

"I'm seeing my mother later."

"I'm sorry," Clara winced, squeezing his hand. "You haven't seen her in a while, though. You shouldn't push her away, not when she's –"

"I'm not pushing her away," the Doctor almost snapped.

"Hey," Clara hushed, pulling at his hand so he would meet her eyes again. "_I_ know that. She doesn't. And now she needs you more than ever. More than she'll ever need you. Do you want to look back and regret wasting your time with her, Doctor? Or do you want to do all you can?"

He crossed his arms over his stomach, gave a loud sniff and stared at the drink sitting on the edge of the table. He knew she was right, of course. He felt it in his heart. But that didn't make it any easier. In fact, it made it harder. He didn't want to feel like this – he was only twenty four years old, having opportunities he never thought he had, plenty of financial income, a girlfriend – why did this have to happen _now_? The Doctor knew it was incredibly selfish, and he despised himself for even feeling this way, but it would be lying if he said he didn't resent the guilt.

"Go to her," Clara said gently, a sad smile on her face. "You can see me tomorrow, the next day, any day you want. Okay?"

He nodded and returned the grip on her hand. Sighing, he grabbed his vodka and tonic and downed it in one go. He got to his feet, leaned down in the space between them, held Clara's head and pressed a delicate kiss to her cheek. "Thank you, Clara."

"Give her my best wishes," she said, smiling up at him. With a higher tone, she asked, "Are you driving?"

"It was only one drink." He brushed away her concern. "I'll call you tomorrow, if you have the time."

Clara's eyebrows twitched with disapproval. If she thought he wasn't fit enough to drive to his parent's house (and judging by his heavy eyes and shaky hands, perhaps he wasn't) then she didn't say anything else. Without any more words, he tapped the top of her head and disappeared through the restaurant, leaving Clara on her own.

As he was walking past the bar, he decided to stop and ask for a shot of gin. Just for good luck. He realised it was probably too early for some people to even consider strong alcohol this time of day, but right now, what other people thought was the least of his concerns. When the barman slid the small glass over the counter, the Doctor called him closer, pointing with his thumb towards the outside.

"There's a girl out there, very pretty, you'll easily know who I'm talking about," he explained whilst he slipped his credit card from his pocket. "She's on her own because I have something to do. She's my best friend. Anything she orders, charge me for it, okay? And just for good measure send her over a caramel Frappuccino. They're her favourite."

* * *

The house was just as big and grand and bland as he remembered it.

He shuddered as he pulled up into the front driveway. He'd escaped from here when he was eighteen for a very good reason – the fancy house which was too empty felt uncomfortable to him, the gardeners and house staff weren't to his style and the glossy black gates showcasing the family name always seemed over the top. The Doctor wanted a much simpler life, cosier and more complete, rather than an inheritance he didn't treasure and a reputation he couldn't withhold.

For the past few years his mother and father had been visiting him, wherever that may be. Due to recent circumstances, that wasn't a viable option anymore. This was the first time he'd been to his family home for roughly two years.

The memories of the last time still made him smile. It was the only time he'd actually had funny memories to do with this place, and that was only due to one person in particular.

His father greeted him with a solemn face and a faked smile. The man looked tired, broken and tired, like he didn't have any spark of life – or hope – left in him. His father appearing utterly defeated didn't exactly fill him with confidence. He felt like running back the way he came and never looking back.

"Son," he said gruffly. "I thought you'd be here earlier. Your mother was worried. You shouldn't worry your mother."

"I had lunch with a friend, I'm sorry," the Doctor apologised swiftly, trying to side track his way into the house and away from the peering eyes of his father.

He caught him by the arm. He squinted, a little bit taller than his son; he used it to his advantage. "Are you hungover? Or have you been drinking?"

The Doctor shrugged. His stomach jolted as he saw the pure betrayal in his father's eyes. "Where is she?" he asked abruptly. "What room is she in?"

The older man turned away. "Master bedroom."

"Right."

The Doctor left him standing there, trying everything he could to forget about the guilt twisting in his stomach and making his fingertips prickle. He saw his older brother, David, in the kitchen, but he didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if David didn't hear him or simply didn't care that his brother was visiting. David had been living back at home to help take care of their mother on and off for the past few months. Perhaps he held a grudge against the Doctor for not doing the same. After all, David had a full time job and a fiancée. What did the Doctor have, in comparison? An over paid job?

He braced himself before entering the room. The white door was slightly open, letting the sunlight spill out onto the carpet. The Doctor poked his head through the crack. His eyes immediately landed on the bed, where he expected her to be, but it was empty. Just as he did so, a whispery voice called out to him.

"John?"

Suddenly the Doctor's throat felt constricted. "Mum?" he called back.

"Darling, come in. Don't be a stranger."

He didn't want to do either. With all of his bravery, and all of his strength, he pushed through the white door and stepped into the bedroom. He could see the shadow of his mother behind the white chiffon curtain, sitting on a mahogany chair, her body pointed in the direction of the sunlight. The lines of light fell around her life a halo, and the Doctor had to shield his eyes to stare. His footsteps were slow as he paced over the carpet, one step at a time. She had an empty seat waiting for him and a cup of steaming tea.

The chair creaked as it took his weight. When she heard the sound, his mother twisted around to catch a good look at him. She reached out her trembling hands, and he met her half way, so she could cup his face. "Oh my beautiful boy," she exclaimed, stroking his cheek just how Clara would. "You're growing into a gorgeous young man."

He placed his hands on top of hers and guided them away from his face. He had to take a few moments to talk again, because he knew if he said something right now, his voice would break and the tears which had been longing to fall would soon follow.

Her cheeks were sunken; her eyes held dark purple shadows that dusted across the top of her cheekbones. Her whole body seemed to be shaking, and he knew it wasn't from the cold. He gripped her hands as tightly as he could without hurting her, silently begging for the trembling to stop. Her skin was so pale that the sunlight absorbed the colour and turned it yellow – she didn't even look human at that moment; she looked heavenly.

And the Doctor wanted nothing more than to cry. It was only a year ago that his mother had been in the height of her beauty, and it was cruel, beyond cruel, that she would be robbed of it so soon. Her career, her stability – gone in an instant. He hated it. He hated the world for inflicting it on her, he hated that this was how she would end. A woman who was kind yet firm, supportive yet honest and most of all, a woman who was his mother and his rock. As much as he resented her materialistic side when he was younger, as much as he resented the fact she expected nothing but the best of him, all of that didn't matter now. Everything she did was through love and he regretted more than anything that he didn't understand that sooner.

"How are you?" he started. When he saw the strength in her gaze, he felt another twinge of regret. "I'm sorry for not visiting sooner. I'll visit more often, I promise. Make up for not being around before."

"You're here now and that's what matters," she told him, wisely. "Never look back with regret, John. Life is too short for that. You never know when what you love most will be robbed from you. Live like there's no tomorrow. I wish someone would've told me that when I was your age. Things might've turned out differently."

"You've become a philosopher since the last time I saw you," he joked, pulling his chair closer.

"Let's leave the soppy talk for another time, eh? I want to talk about living. I want to know what you're doing, every little thing."

"Well, the job is going well. Making a lot of progress."

She quirked a thin eyebrow at him. "Are you telling me about your job because there isn't a girl in the picture, or are you telling me about your job because there _is_ a girl in the picture and you're too embarrassed to tell me about her?"

The Doctor shuffled and his mother let out a coarse laugh. She grimaced as she repositioned herself on her chair, and the Doctor tried to help her but she batted him away, insisting she was fine. Not to make a fuss. He didn't argue.

"I've told you about River," he muttered. "I work with her. Remember?"

Her face scrunched up in distaste and she tapped her chin while she thought about it. She shook her head, decidedly, saying, "Ah, yes. I remember. What about that other girl? The one who you invited for lunch and ended up staying for dinner?"

The Doctor smiled. "Clara?"

"That's it, Clara!" She nodded, matching his smile. "Now, I liked her."

He could feel his cheeks blushing and when that happened, usually he would retreat from the conversation. But right now, sitting in the sun talking about Clara to his mother, didn't seem like a bad idea after all. "Mum, she indirectly called dad a fascist," he recalled, stifling a laugh.

"Exactly, the girl has passion. She has spirit. Your father was acting like the know-it-all that he is and she wasn't afraid to disagree with him. Now, why can't you go out with her? Hm?"

The Doctor glanced out to the countryside flooded with sunshine. "She's my best friend."

"Ah," she said, as if it explained everything. "She's taken."

"No!" he defended, too quickly. "No, she's single."

She didn't believe him; it was clear in her expression. Despite how her image was fading, and everything else along with it, her personality was still clear on her face. The Doctor pretended to huff with her, like he used to do when he was a child. She wheezed out another laughed and gently pulled on his arm so that she could pull him into a half hug. "Will you stay for dinner, John?"

The Doctor hesitated. He had important plans tonight. Ones he really shouldn't miss – especially with missing the meeting earlier.

His pause didn't go amiss either. "It's alright, John. You can say no. You're a young lad with commitments, I understand."

"No," he promised, pulling away to meet her eyes. "I'll stay for dinner. For anything you want."

* * *

** Note: The next chapter has a lot of Whouffle. Even though it won't be how you expect… People can change while growing up, and I wanted to delve into it the same way David Nicholls does in **_**One Day **_**(doesn't mean they can't change back!). You're all wonderful for reviewing and reading, please keep them coming! **


	5. 23rd November 2007

**A/N: Warning of some mild swearing in this chapter. So, where we are now: Clara has graduated with a teaching degree and is starting her training at a new school, and the Doctor, well… You'll see. (Please don't hate me!) Big, big thank you to all my wonderful reviewers: Mo-jjhnson, orchids117, Anonalways, bloomingredroses, saharahjohanson, Foeseeker, Noirthrus, Abby0512x, ImpossibleClara9, sassywriterchick, Dede42, OhMyStarsShiz, sillysouffle and special mention to Tom who helped me fix this chapter. It was very problematic to write. Hope you enjoy! **

** Chapter Five: 23****rd**** November 2007**

_25 years old_

It was raining heavily when Clara ordered the taxi.

As she stared out of rain soaked window, she contemplated whether tonight was a good idea at all. Not only did the lashing rain drenching the streets of the city seem ominous enough, but she felt as if her heart wasn't in it. She was exhausted from a full day at school, and really wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed with a nice cosy blanket and fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Yet, a little voice hidden in the furthest corner of her subconscious whispered to her that if she didn't see him tonight, she might not get another chance.

The truth of it was, Clara and the Doctor had severely drifted apart. It was weeks since she'd seen him last and even their regular phone calls had stopped. Her chest was heavy every time she thought of her best friend; it felt like a cocktail of guilt, worry and mild anger all mixed together, resulting in a permanent frown printed on her face. Things had changed with him. And not for the better.

She had to push all of these feelings to one side as she stepped into the taxi. Clara held onto the hope that perhaps the Doctor arranging to meet up with her was a way of showing how he'd turned a corner in his life. Maybe he had eventually accepted what had happened, maybe he was moving on.

She did everything she could to forget the last time she was with him. It was one of her worst memories, and she hoped she would never have to see him in such a broken state again.

However, even though she pitied him, and even though she gave him the utmost empathy, the Doctor had hurt Clara in a way she wasn't willing to forgive yet. She hoped she would get an explanation tonight.

Clara really needed one.

The Doctor had reserved a table in a high-end Italian restaurant in the middle of London. It was renowned for hosting celebrity events and businessmen frequently gathered there to discuss marketing techniques with other companies. It was over budget for Clara, _very_ over budget, but she understood it was probably a casual meeting place for the Doctor. Especially since Gallifrey was making an imprint on the market.

The building was glass and bronze and very modern. A doorman bowed when Clara gave the Doctor's name for the reservation, before a waiter showed her to her seat. Apparently they gave out free champagne in this restaurant as well, because as soon as she sat down a tall flute glass was thrust into her hand like it was a criminal offence to be seen without one.

The Doctor was ten minutes late.

He staggered over to their table, his skin pale and tinted grey. His eyes were drowsy, heavily lidded and purple shadows dusted the top of his prominent cheek bones. He'd also cut his hair since the last time Clara had seen him – now it was short and flat, without any shine or volume.

He huffed as he took his seat facing Clara, almost as if it was painful. Without looking up at her, he grabbed the menu lying on the table top and flicked open the first few pages.

"Have you already ordered?" he asked, as if he'd been there all along.

Clara's frown deepened. "Hello to you too," she said grudgingly.

The Doctor shook his head. "Oh, yes. Formalities. Sorry. How are you?"

Clara barely recognised him at all. His words were slurred and his hands were shaking. She didn't know how to react. Clara sat there for a few moments, staring over the table at him, not really wanting to believe. This wasn't the Doctor, her oldest friend, the one she could tell anything to – this was an alcohol-reliant imposter manipulating the Doctor's body.

The signs had been there all along but she always liked to think the Doctor was smart enough to stop a problem before it got out of hand. Before it became too much to handle. Ever since his mother had taken sick, it seemed he had lost all sense of rationale, all sensibility, all free will. He was governed for an all encompassing need for alcohol to ignore reality.

Now it made sense that he'd been pushing her away. He knew that if Clara had've been around more, she would never have let him get into this mess.

Without waiting for an answer, the Doctor answered his own question. "I've been busy. Very busy. Gallifrey is climbing to the highest peak of our sector. The profits we're making are immense. You should see the amount –"

"I thought you joined Gallifrey Industries to work on inventions, not to analyse profit margins," Clara interrupted. She couldn't look at him anymore; she stared at the table instead.

He wasn't looking at her either. He was looking out to the rest of the restaurant, his eyes roaming around to see if he spotted anyone he knew. "Yeah, well, plans change. Don't they? People change. That's life."

Just as he said it, he was handed a tall glass of champagne. He flicked his wrist to swirl the golden liquid, silently considering his last words.

"So are you still into teaching then?"

It was the way he said it that sparked the flame of anger in Clara's chest. His tone betrayed his thoughts; it was dismissive, disinterested, as if her lifestyle was far less important and glamorous that his. And the way he was glancing around the room, restless, as if he would rather be somewhere else. He looked as if he was trying to hurry this along, get to the next big event in his life. Clara felt so hurt it was pulling at her stomach, begging herself to wake up from this terrible dream.

How could someone who was so good become so corrupt?

The Doctor wasn't listening for an answer. He finished his first glass of champagne and beckoned the waiter over for another. Clara literally had to bite her lip to refrain from shouting at him. "Don't you think you've had enough? You're already drunk," she snapped.

He met her gaze for the first time. His green eyes were angry, hard, without a single trace of genuine emotion. It was all an act, all of it. He was probably broken inside.

But Clara couldn't be sure.

He let out a smug scoff, slightly raising his chin. "Lighten up, Clara. Since when have you been so critical of over drinking?"

Clara could feel the flame in her chest rising. "When was the last time you were sober?" she shot back.

"Yeah, whatever." Just in spite, he downed a second glass. "I thought we could catch up. I didn't come here to be criticised."

Right now she had a decision to make. She could play along with this fiasco, pretend that this was completely normal and maybe, just maybe, he meant what he said. She could listen to him boasting about his miraculous career, ignoring everything she wanted to say and once they left tonight and parted ways, she could keep a closer check on him. Slowly make him realise he had a problem and he could confide in her no matter what. No judgement attached. Just like old times – just how it used to be.

And then there was another option – she could tell him how she knew he wasn't interested. That he probably only made time for her tonight because he _wanted_ something, or _needed_ something. She could let out all of the hidden anger she'd been feeling towards him for the last few months, all of the hurt and sadness she felt when she wanted to tell him a big event in her life and he turned away, as if she meant nothing. Then, once they parted tonight, they'd both be so hurt that they'd never speak to each other again. That would be it. The Doctor and Clara would be over.

The decision was making her eyes sting.

"Fine," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "It's been a while. Let's catch up."

"I actually have something to ask you," he started to say, setting the menu back on the table. He kept his gaze focussed on her, but when she stared at him too long, he glanced away with a small twitch.

"Oh?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Gallifrey is having an Open Day next week. To bring in more investors, more customers. I'm making a speech. I want you to be there."

It was like a punch to Clara's stomach. It was as if someone had removed her entire vocabulary because right now, she had no words. Her stinging eyes glazed over while her hands clasped together, the sudden impulsive anger was being fuelling by the overwhelming amount of hurt. She was a bottle of exploding champagne, moments before spilling over. Her head almost felt dizzy with it.

"You want me to be there, do you?" she asked.

He didn't seem to notice her internal struggle. "Well, yeah. You're my friend; I'd like to see your face in the crowd. Know you're there."

"I suppose you're right," Clara said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Friends are supposed to support one another, after all. Isn't that right, Doctor?"

He was starting to catch on that something wasn't right. "Why are you being –?"

"Piss off," she told him as the first tear fell. "Piss off! I can't believe – you're just –"

The Doctor sat forward. His eyebrows were pulled together and his hands were resting flat on the table. "What did I say?! Did I say something?"

Clara wanted to punch him. She wanted to cry and punch him and let it all out. "You expect _me_ to go to your stupid little business day – to support you – when _you_ didn't go to _my_ graduation?!" she spat. She was fully shouting now, her tone at a hysterical level. "How fucking dare you! You self-absorbed ignorant dickhead!"

He gaped at her, staring blankly in return. As if he had no idea what she was talking about.

She explained, "I sat there _waiting_ for you to show up. Waiting for my best friend to congratulate me. I wouldn't have cared if it was for five minutes – actually, I wouldn't have cared if you even managed to make a phone call to explain why you weren't there! There was nothing – absolutely nothing, not even the smallest recognition until you phoned me a few weeks ago asking to meet up tonight. You're supposed to be my friend, Doctor. Now you expect me to go to your stupid Open Day?!"

His face was weird. It looked as if he was feeling multiple things at once and he didn't know what emotion to show first. In the end, he shrugged. He shrugged and replied, "I'm sorry. I got caught up in… stuff. You know you had my support. I didn't need to be there for that."

The irony, the hypocrisy, was too much to handle. Instead of saying things she would later regret, Clara hit her napkin against the table, got to her feet and with angry steps, walked towards the exit without looking back. She could hear the Doctor calling after her, but she didn't care. Why should she? She kept walking until the cold night air hit her face like someone slapped her. It was still raining heavily; the water splashed all around, mixing with her tears, until the two were indistinguishable.

"Clara," he grabbed her arm and forcefully spun her around. He was furious now as well. "I think you're really overreacting! In case you haven't noticed, I haven't exactly had it easy these past few months, my life has –"

"Don't even play that game with me," Clara snapped, interrupting him. She snatched her arm back. "I'm sorry your mum died, Doctor. I am so sorry. Maybe you've forgotten – but I lost my mum too. It didn't turn me into what you've become."

With the rain dripping from his chin and his eyes burning into hers, he shouted, "And what have I become, Clara?! How have I changed?"

"You can't go through a day without drowning your pain with alcohol," she shot back, intent on giving him a harsh reality check now. "You're pushing me away because you know I'll make you accept your sorrow – accept what has happened. You think if you focus on your petty little work problems that maybe you can ignore reality. Is this really what your mother would've wanted, Doctor? Is this what she wanted?"

"Well, this is me, alright?!" he bellowed, his fist scrunched up at his side. "This is who I am now, whether you fucking like it or not!"

"Really? You're happy, are you? Your life is crumbling around you and all you're doing is helping it along, with every drop of alcohol that touches your lips. And guess what, Doctor?" Clara took a step closer, flicking her wet hair out of her eyes. "When you're at rock bottom and you have a sudden epiphany – when you eventually regret what you've become – there will be absolutely no one around to pick up the pieces. No one. We're not friends. Not anymore. We're only friends when it's convenient for _you_."

He was shaking. His whole body was shaking. The Doctor's eyes were so tightly focussed on her that Clara felt like she could physically feel the pressure against her chest. She had touched a nerve – she could see it in his slow blinks, as if someone had shone a dim light through his blurry, drunken dream.

"Change back!" she demanded with a sniff. "Change _back_!"

There was a long pause.

"I don't think I can," he croaked.

It was the first time he'd been honest with himself, or with Clara, in over a year.

It was the aching pangs of guilt dripping into her subconscious that caused her to walk across the space between them until they were directly in front of one another. Very slowly, deliberately, Clara wrapped her arms around the Doctor's chest, reaching up on her tiptoes. She held him tightly, hugging him for the first time in weeks. They're bodies fit together like they had never been parted in the first place.

And she wanted to keep it like this forever, but she knew she couldn't. She had one more thing to say.

"I love you, Doctor," Clara whispered. The rain was louder than her voice as she pulled away. "I just don't like you anymore."

Without another word, without another glance, without a single hint of insincerity, Clara turned her back on him and began to walk away. The Doctor stood there, watching, expecting her to turn around and run back down the street, into his arms, kissing apologies against his cheek.

But now all he could see was a blurry black figure, far away in the distance, dancing between the puddles. The stark orange streetlamps cast the world into tones of light and tones of shadow, and against the rain, it created a watercolour canvas leading far into the bustling city. He saw her shadow hop into a stray taxi, and it was only then that he realised that maybe, just maybe, he had lost her forever.

His world came crashing down very quickly.

"Clara," he called. His voice was low. He knew she was too far away. She couldn't hear. "_Clara!_"

The Doctor couldn't handle the pain in his heart at losing his mother so soon. He drowned it with drink. Each time his heart twanged with haunting regret, he would drink to numb it. Drink in the hope to forget.

Alcohol helped the sorrow.

And yet, he knew, the all-consuming loneliness he was feeling now could not be healed. The rain was soaking him through, revealing the true him for all to see. The warmth Clara's hug and sent through his body was quickly fading away, like snow on a summer's day. The coldness she had left behind was unbearable.

He followed the direction of Clara. His hand was holding his heart because he could feel it breaking all over again. The more he walked, with his footsteps splashing through the deep puddles, the more the pain increased. The Doctor fell against the wall, his limbs suddenly weak. His back slipped down against the wet surface until he fell to the ground with a small thump.

He couldn't hold it back anymore; it was coming over him in a wave. His heart, held together with tape, was slowly peeling apart and as the fragments fell, they turned into sharp dust. The first sob that tore from his throat gave him a spark of relief. Like he'd been holding it back all this time. He had, and he knew he had. Ignorance was only bliss for so long, and then it became a burden.

With the sobs making his body shudder, and the rain washing away the shield he'd raised over his heart, the Doctor had never wanted Clara more in his life.

And she was right. She was always right.

No one was around to pick up the pieces.

* * *

**Note: It can only get better, right? …Right? Reviews would make my day! **


	6. 23rd November 2008

**A/N: If anyone rereads this all over again once I've posted the last ever chapter, you're going to find a line that is going to hurt like hell when looking at the future context. Trust me, it hurt like hell writing it! I'm sorry for the two day delay, but it turns out when it's sunny outside (since it's so rarely sunny over here) I cannot concentrate on writing at all. Hopefully this happy chapter makes up for it! A lot can happen in a year, especially a year on from a fight with your best friend. So I hope this doesn't confuse people. Anyway, as always, tell me what you think! Many thanks to the wonderful reviewers: DancingWithTheDoctor, Guest, orchids117, , XxSnowyDreamsxX, bloomingredroses, saharajohanson, Dede42, Anonalways, oswaldoswinclara, SissiWeasley, OhMyStarsShiz, ImpossibleClara9, someone, sassywriterchick, Abby0512x, sillysouffle, The War Doctor and the lovely Tom. I'm sorry I could reply this time, I will definitely reply to reviews next time! (and may give you a sneak peak of the next chapter while I'm at it to make up for it!)**

** Chapter Six: 23****rd**** November 2008**

_26 years old_

It was a glorious day. The soft blue sky swept over the entire landscape and the sunrays reflected onto the world below like the flowing strokes of a paintbrush. The sea was sparkling with individual diamonds of light, holding them for a second before they faded away and transported far across the beach to where the sun had chased it. Some of the locals sat on the blazing white sand, gossiping and laughing, with children playing and giggling around them.

The good thing about taking time off to go on holiday this time of year, Clara considered, was that the beaches were much quieter, less busy with annoying tourists, and the overall atmosphere generally calmer. She sighed with content and turned her head to the side, pushing her sunglasses further up her nose. A soft breeze ghosted across her skin and she felt her eyes close, perfectly happy to fall asleep then and there.

"You're not asleep, are you?"

"Not with your big mouth, no," she retorted lightly, perching up on her side to get a better look at him. "I'm surprised I got any sleep last night. Your snoring was –"

"I do not snore!" defended the Doctor, pushing himself up from his blanket. His sunglasses slipped, and as he looked at her in her pink bikini, he quickly diverted his gaze. He lay back down, staring up at the sky again.

Clara wanted to laugh. They had arrived on the plane yesterday afternoon, and when they showed up at their little hotel, the manager offered them a full apology. He had accidentally rented their room to another couple, and so, he gave them the only room he had left, free of charge. The only problem: there was only one bed. A bed they had to share.

The Doctor was mumbling bumbling mess of incoherent sentences when they realised the situation. He insisted on sleeping on the floor, even sleeping outside if that's what she wanted. Clara told him she didn't know what the big deal was – they were going to share a room anyway. It was just as if their separate beds had been pushed together.

The whole point of this holiday was for them to relax and let go, forget all the worries which were clouded their everyday lives and spend some quality time together. Clara had pretended to the headmaster, Mrs Killen, that she had a family commitment abroad and had to take some time off. She felt guilty, at first, until she stepped onto the shore and felt the luxurious warm sand beneath her feet and the slight sting of the scorching sun on her skin. All she would have to do was worry about the lie when they went back home.

As for the Doctor and Clara, things were going from strength to strength. He eventually admitted that he needed her help, that he was sorry, with all his heart, that he was pushing her away. It was fully intentional because he knew Clara would be able to solve him. They restarted their friendship; Doctor and Clara part two. This time they promised one another that nothing, absolutely nothing, will come between them. The Doctor was gradually coming around to being his old self, but of course, some changes were here to say. The sadness around his eyes, for example, and his reluctance to even hold a bottle of alcohol, never mind drink it.

"You haven't said since we got here," Clara said, still lying on her side and peering over him. "How's the job going?"

"Hm, I don't really know. Competition is really heating up and we're falling slightly. If we want to reach our estimated figures for 2013, we may have to let some people go."

"2013! Wow." Clara lifted up her glasses and squinted against the sun, shielding her eyes as if she could physically see the future. "We'll be thirty one. That's scary."

The Doctor snorted and shrugged it off. "For all we know the world will end in 2012 like predicted."

"Aren't you a bundle of joy?" she joked, nudging him with her elbow. But there was a level of concern in his voice that didn't go amiss as she considered his words carefully. On a different note, she added, "Seriously though, are you worried about them letting you go?"

He heaved out a sigh and scrunched up his nose. "Tension has been high since…" – his voice faded momentarily – "well, since River left. Everyone is still blaming me."

"What, because you dumped her and then she did a runner?" Clara commented bluntly.

"Clara…" he warned, meeting her gaze.

"Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't tease," she conceded, lying back down. "But come on, you'd do it if you were me."

"Yeah, you're probably right. We both know you're more sensible than to get into a situation like that, anyway." She could hear the sadness in his voice; she didn't have to see it. "Speaking of jobs, how's that promise of a promotion going?"

"Looks like it's going well, thanks," Clara said. "Only a few more months until I find out."

"Well done, Clara. That's a super achievement. Hopefully you get it."

Clara didn't want to linger on the topic of her career too long, not when the Doctor seemed to be struggling. It wasn't fair, no matter how much he insisted he was proud of her. To change the conversation, she suggested, "What do you say we get something to eat and then head to the little club we spotted earlier?"

The Doctor shot her a cheeky grin. "For you, Clara Oswald, I would go anywhere."

* * *

They followed the beating of the drums to the local nightclub. It wasn't the average all-nighter bar, pumping rave music into the early hours of the morning – no, it was a large open hut glittering with fairy lights, playing traditional Spanish music on drums and guitars with people all of all ages dancing in the middle of the floor. Clara and the Doctor sat beside the bar, watching the people shout and sing; the Doctor more fascinated, Clara more amused.

"For the lady?" asked the bartender.

"Pina Colada, please," Clara said loudly over the music.

He was already reaching for the shaker. "And for the sir?"

The Doctor fought with himself for a moment. His eyes held a shine of wild confusion because, for him, this question held a lot more significance than he would care to admit to any old stranger. Clara felt a spark of pride when he glanced to her for help, wordlessly asking what he should do. She knew he hadn't touched alcohol since the night of their argument, and it had been more of a struggle for him to stay away than either of them liked to remember.

So, she grabbed his hands and met his gaze, squeezing them firmly. "Doctor, we're on holiday. You're in the clear. You haven't needed to rely on anything in months – actually, roughly a year. Okay? So if you feel like you can have one drink and walk away, then go for it. If you can't, then it doesn't matter."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can! Yeah," he said to himself more than to the bartender. "I'll have a Blue Lagoon, please."

"And you're sure –?"

"Just for the holiday, Clara. I promise. I have to face this. I don't want to live my life in fear of drinking the tiniest drop of alcohol."

She was proud of him. It took people years, perhaps all of their life, to get to this point and the Doctor was handling everything brilliantly. All he needed was a soft push in the right direction, a small moral guide. It was excellent progress.

In a few years they wouldn't be talking about it at all.

As Clara took a deep sip of her coconut cocktail, a handsome man of around her age danced over to her. His hair was light brown and reached his shoulders, and he had a glitter of mischief in his olive brown eyes. Clara laughed as he bowed, took her hand and pressed a delicate kiss there. The Doctor shuffled in his seat, piercing the good-looking stranger what he thought to be his most penetrating stare. Before he knew it, or before he could say anything, Clara was whisked away onto the dance floor. The Doctor huffed as he accepted his own cocktail from the bartender, a bright blue concoction, and watched from across the space as Clara was entwined around this handsome man.

He spun her in and out, circled her around and made her fall into helpless giggles. The Doctor had absolutely no idea why this scene was bothering him so much. Maybe it was because he knew he could never dance like that with Clara, and the only time he had made Clara laugh while dancing was when he was drunk and acting like an idiot. He swore at himself for being so clumsy, so un-cool, and for a second he was pretty sure a local woman was looking at him as if he was crazy.

When the song ended, the handsome stranger whispered something in Clara's ear. She blushed and responded just as enthusiastically. The Spanish man led her back to the Doctor by the hand, said something frustratingly seductive in fluent Spanish and disappeared again into the crowd.

"What did he say?" the Doctor asked gruffly.

"He said he'd see me tomorrow," Clara said with a smirk, raising her eyebrows at her best friend. "And I may just take him up on that offer."

"I'm sure he'll be utterly heartbroken when you leave in three days," the Doctor commented, his tone sour, "or maybe he's used to fleeting romances with British girls."

Clara was smiling. "Are you jealous?"

He sat up straight. "No!"

"You are! You're jealous of Jorge!"

The Doctor scoffed. "What kind of name is Hooraay anyway?"

"It's pronounced _Hor-hey_, Mister _when-I-get-jealous-I-insult-other-people_," Clara snapped back. "And it's obviously Spanish because we're in Spain."

A stiff silence fell between them. Clara was still amused as she finished her Pina Colada, while the Doctor was still sulking like a small little child who was always used to getting his own way. Clara placed her empty glass on the counter with a loud clout and turned to the Doctor, resting both of her hands on his knees. "Come on," she decided, "let's go for a walk and chat."

"Yeah," he agreed, sitting his half full drink beside hers. "Let's get out of here."

The best thing about the petite nightclub, Clara thought, was that it was directly overlooking the beach. All they needed to do was step down onto the rough pebbled walkway, follow the small trail and then they were onto the shore, the wet sand squelching under their feet. The night sky was a luxurious deep black, swirling with lighter tones closer to the horizon – the place where stars twinkled before fading from view. The sea was calm and reflective, washing up onto the grainy sand and ebbing back into the deep depths, too and fro, back and forth, with the sound filling the entirety of the surrounding area. As for the air, it was cold and sweet, and just subtle enough for it to be a gentle scent long remembered rather than sickly and overpowering.

And with her best friend by her side, his hand warming hers, and this beautiful night view in front of her, Clara wished she could bottle this moment and save it for later; for a time when she was old and lonely, reminiscing about her younger years.

If only life worked like that.

"The last time you and I were under a night sky, doing nothing for the sake of doing nothing, was when we first met," the Doctor said, breaking the carefree silence, a ghost of a smile on his own lips. "That feels like so long ago."

Clara nodded, her eyes flicking up to the starry sky, identical to the one they were under five years previously. It might look the same, but it had inevitably changed. The people under it certainly had. "We're a long way away from that hill now," Clara replied.

"You know," he started, coming to a halt in the middle of the sand. "I've never told you this before. Do you remember when I bumped into you?"

"Yes. You poured beer all over my dress."

The Doctor grimaced. "That wasn't exactly… an accident."

Clara wasn't sure where he was going with this. "It… wasn't?"

"See, the thing was, I'd liked you from afar for a very long time," the Doctor admitted slowly, his eyes gradually moving away from Clara and resting on the sea behind her. "That night I was Jack and he thought it would be a good idea to – well, he thought that if I could get you on your own, I might have an easier time talking to you. So he, sort of, chatted up your friend Nina so that –"

"Jack _used_ Nina so you could have the courage to _talk_ to me?!" Clara squeaked, disbelievingly.

"It wasn't using, exactly!" the Doctor defended. He raised his hands in surrender. "Jack fancied Nina. Well, Jack fancies everyone so…"

"What next?" she demanded. "Spilling your drink was planned too?!"

The Doctor bit his lip and turned away. Back then, he knew it had been dishonest of him, he knew he really shouldn't have agreed to Jack's plan, but in all honesty, he was just so desperate to talk to Clara that he would've done anything to pick up the courage to do so. It was his final year, and her final year too, and he knew if he didn't talk to her soon, they would part forever and he might never see her again. He didn't want that to happen. To top it off, he didn't really know why he was admitting this to her now.

"While we're at it," Clara said, also refusing to look at him. "I have something to admit too."

The Doctor's eyes widened. "You do?"

Clara smirked. The night air had suddenly turned hot against her skin, like the burning rays of the sun. "Yeah. I always fancied you from afar as well."

He couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head at the sheer irony of it all, not quite willing to believe the scenario they were recalling. Clara joined in, retaking his hand, and swinging it in between them. "How weird is that?"

"Absolutely wizard," the Doctor said, still beaming.

Neither of them knew what to say next. They were both shy, a little embarrassed by admitting what they'd known to be fact all along. Where did they go from here? How did the conversation change into something less meaningful?

Clara took it upon herself to swiftly move on. He let out a little cough and directed both of their bodies towards the sea. "One thing we haven't done yet," she said.

"What's that?"

"A midnight swim."

His eyes met her gleaming brown, full of mischief and surprise. He took a step away from her, shaking his head adamantly, as if she had pushed him a step too far. "No, no! Absolutely not, Clara, no way –"

"Come on, Doctor, we're on holiday, we're supposed to –"

"We've been drinking, we've been sunbathing, this isn't exactly –"

"Fine," Clara decided, pulling off her jacket and flinging it onto the sand. "I'm going on my own."

He tried to grab her arm but she stepped out of his reach. "No, _Clara_!"

Like a stubborn child, Clara ran towards the sea and jumped into the oncoming wave. The Doctor's heart was hammering in concern for her, and yet, he didn't want to follow. He was torn; one part telling him to have common sense, to yell at her until she came out, and then the other half, screaming at him to let go and follow her into the warm waves.

He didn't even realise he was peeling off his clothes until he saw them piled on the ground at his feet.

Why was his one weakness always Clara Oswald?

Shrieking at the top of his lungs, the Doctor ran across the beach, his arms waving wildly in the air until he took a leap of faith and splashed into the water, landing beside his best friend. Clara was bent over laughing, the tears falling freely from her eyes.

"My whole brain just went 'what the hell!'" the Doctor shouted as he flapped his arms in the water, keeping his head above the level. "It's surprisingly warmer than I expected!"

But Clara was looking at something directly behind the Doctor's shoulder. She covered her mouth with one of her hands and with her other, pointed towards the beach. "Doctor – Doctor, there's –"

"Don't you dare, Clara Oswald, don't you _dare_ say it."

"Two guys from the club have –"

"Clara, I swear to god!"

"They're running away with your clothes!"

The Doctor splashed around in a circle. Sure enough, two grown men were sprinting away from the scene, laughing loudly into the night air. The Doctor shouted a wordless phrase, wildly running through the deep water to get back onto the beach. Clara was frozen in the water, unable to control her endless giggling. He was stripped down to his boxers, completely sodden, as he went to see what the thieves had left. He held up Clara's jacket, the only item of clothing remaining, and swore loudly in the direction of the runaways. Clara was slowly paddling back to the shore, her laughing fading away as her stomach muscles couldn't take anymore.

"Clara!" the Doctor complained, spinning around at her, "I can't walk home naked!"

"You can wear my jacket, if you like," Clara shot back.

The Doctor pointed at her. "If I find out this was stupid Jorge-ywhoo or whatever you call him!"

"Okay, okay, okay. I will hunt them down, Doctor, I swear. I will find them. You stay here, and I'll get a pitchfork."

But now he was trying to stay annoyed, and as he shared an amused glance with Clara, he knew he couldn't do it. They both started laughing again, and the Doctor reached out his hand. Clara walked towards him, wrapping her arm around his waist and the Doctor rested his on her shoulders. They traipsed along the sand, heading back towards their hotel room with the sun starting to peek over the horizon.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" Clara asked.

"Buy new clothes," the Doctor said.

"Apart from sulking," she teased.

"Let's worry about tomorrow, tomorrow," the Doctor decided, looking back up at the lightening sky. It seemed their holiday was passing too quickly for his liking. Before they knew it they would be transported back into real life. "For now, let's just enjoy the rest of today."

* * *

**Next time: A wedding (but whose wedding?!) and the Doctor tries everything he can to avoid an intimate conversation with Clara. Hope you enjoyed, reviews would be amazing!**


	7. 23rd November 2009

**A/N: This may, or may not, be the chapter you've all been waiting for! As always, your reviews mean the world to me, so keep them coming! I reckon, in total, this fic is around two thirds complete, if anyone is wondering. Massive thank you to all my wonderful, lovely, brilliant reviewers: The War Doctor, NoLongerAGuest, bloomingredroses, OswinSmith, orchids117, DanchingWithTheDoctor, saharajohanson, RainingOnTheParade, OhMyStarsShiz, Anonalways, Dede42, ThePotterDoctor and the fantastic ImpossibleClara9. Hope you enjoy!**

** Chapter Seven: 23****rd**** November 2009**

_27 years old _

It was the day of the wedding and all of the months of preparation were going to finally pay off. The Doctor had his speech ready; he had the ring in his pocket and his suit had been ironed around three times by this stage.

He was the _best_ Best Man ever, if he did say so himself.

When Jack Harkness asked the Doctor to be his Best Man, he cried manly tears of joy. He was unbelievably happy that Jack and Ianto were finally getting married – especially since it was something the Doctor wouldn't have been able to see a few years ago. Jack was settling down, growing up, and moving in the right direction with his life. As for the Doctor, he was truly honoured to be making that first step with him.

And yet, as he stood in the hotel, watching friends and family settle in their designated seats to watch the proceedings, he was only looking out for one person. One person he wanted to see more than anything in the world, but also, one person he was doing everything he could to avoid.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Jack in his handsome white suit, twirling around for the Doctor to approve. "Doctor," he called when he received no attention. "Doctor, are you listening? What's the point of having a Best Man if they don't shower me with compliments before the ceremony?"

On the word 'Best Man' the Doctor's attention caught on Jack. He appeared startled to see Jack standing beside him, and his whole body jerked to the right. "Oh, are you here already?" he asked nervously, his eyes darting back to the entrance.

Jack sighed and hung his head. "She's not here yet, Doctor."

"Who?" he questioned, his tone urgent, stepping closer to his friend. "Who? Who do you mean?"

"Clara," Jack said, like it explained all the problems in the world. "I know that's who you're looking for. You can't avoid –"

"I'm not avoiding," the Doctor interjected, straightening his cufflinks to avoid the piercing stare of Jack Harkness. "Why would I avoid her? I have absolutely no reason to avoid her. None at all. Even if she was standing right beside me, right now, I would have no reason to –"

Jack raised an incredulous eyebrow. "She's behind you."

The Doctor flinched and spun around, as if he had been electrocuted. Jack couldn't help but laugh. He walked forward and wrapped his arm around the Doctor's shoulders, squeezing him tightly. His Best Man was an idiot, an endearing idiot, but an idiot all the same. Clara sure did have her hands full with this one. "Sometimes I think it should be you and Clara up here getting married today instead of me and Ianto," Jack muttered to himself, slapping the Doctor's back.

"What?!"

"Nothing, nothing," he corrected quickly, letting the Doctor go. "You're going to have to talk to her eventually. You know Clara, if she's determined to confront you; she's going to do it sooner than later. Unless she's avoiding you too."

"Twelve missed calls and eleven very angry voicemails. So, I don't think she's avoiding me, no," the Doctor said. His chest was heaving with guilt, anxiety, nerves, and an uncomfortable amount of affection. He couldn't shake the memory from his head if he tried – and the largest part of him didn't want to. He wanted to dream about it forever, to experience it all over again but he had to keep wiping such thoughts from his mind. He grabbed Jack by the arms when the surge of emotions poured through his veins once more, each time getting stronger. "Jack, what am I going to do? What am I going to do, Jack?"

"Listen, Doctor, it's simple," Jack explained. "All you need to do is be honest. Just be honest."

* * *

The ceremony was beautiful. The Doctor was crying and clapping as Jack and Ianto led the way into the garden to where they were hosting the reception party. Weddings always made him cry like a little boy who had lost his favourite toy. He felt pathetic, overjoyed and pathetic, and he clung onto Jack in the wedding photos, almost refusing to let go. He had no idea how he was going to manage to get through his speech later.

"Clara!" Jack shouted. The Doctor's body became rigid. There was no where to run, not here – they were surrounded by people, hundreds of witnesses.

Then he saw her. And it was so unfair.

During their week of separation, she had gotten even more beautiful. The Doctor found that when he looked he couldn't look away. He felt his face hot, his collar tight, and his hands fumble with his bowtie. Clara was dressed in a red chiffon dress to the knee and her hair was half pulled back in a bun, half flowing freely. Her appearance was like a visual attack to the Doctor's eyes; it assaulted all of his senses, so strongly, that he felt like crying out at the unfairness of it all. Was she doing this on purpose? Was this all a big plan on her part?

Maybe it really was safer to hate her than love her and lose her.

He couldn't quite face the thought of losing her, though.

"I want a photo with you Clara – in fact, I want a whole album!" Jack announced as he held Clara in his arms, shooting the Doctor a secret glare over her shoulder. "Doctor, why don't you fetch the microphone while we're getting more photos? I think we forgot to set it up earlier."

"Sure!" he exclaimed, silently mouthing 'thank you' to Jack at the chance to escape. "Where is it?"

"In the closet beside the rented hotel room. Take your time, we're in no rush."

The Doctor skedaddled as quickly as he could. He practically ran across the grass and back to the hotel, leaving Jack and Clara together in the crowd of well-wishers. Jack broke away from their hug and held Clara by the shoulders. "Go after him," he told her. "There's nothing in that closet. Ianto has the microphone already set up. But he's scared, and he doesn't know how to talk to you, so now's your chance."

Clara smiled, stood on her tiptoes and kissed Jack's cheek. "Even at your own wedding you're still playing matchmaker."

"And what a match the both of you make!" Jack exclaimed to an exasperated Clara. With a roll of her eyes, Clara squeezed Jack in a tight hug, wished him luck and set off across the grass to follow the Doctor.

As predicted, she found him in the small closet, searching through boxes full of unused decorations and tableware, quietly muttering to himself about being unable to place the microphone. When he heard the door open, he didn't turn around. Instead, he sighed, "I'm sorry, Jack, I'm totally useless. I don't know where –"

"It's me, Doctor."

It was like someone had poured a bucket of ice cold water all down his back. He refused to turn around, or even acknowledge her, as if he thought, like a vengeful wasp, if he stayed still long enough maybe she would ignore him and walk away. That stung more than Clara cared to admit.

He must've decided that his tactic wasn't practical. Slowly, the Doctor started to turn around but his eyes didn't meet Clara's. He stared, almost longingly, at the exit. Clara felt the hurt and sadness grip at her chest at his rejection; so much so, she had to cross her arms around her middle to conceal the feeling. The Doctor straightened up as he unravelled himself to his full height with his shoulders stiff and rigid, his hands clasped in front of him. Clara couldn't take it anymore; the energy in the small closet was too much to handle.

"Doctor, we need to talk about last week." Her voice was flat and icy.

He scratched the back of his neck and stared at the ceiling. "Last week?" he asked, pretending to be oblivious.

_Oh no_, Clara said to herself, _he's not playing that game with me._ He was going to face it, and he was going to face now. He was going to man up and they were going to talk about this until they solved the situation.

She had an idea. "Okay, repeat after me," she said, raising her eyebrows, challenging him. "_Last week_."

He eyed her cautiously. "Last week," he repeated obediently.

Clara took three steps closer to him so that she had to look up to reach his eye level. With every word packing the force of a punch, she clarified, "We. Slept. Together."

There was a moment of complete silence.

The Doctor physically struggled with himself. His lips were pressed together and his neck was blotchy with red marks, and it looked as if he would burst. His fingers tapped together, and as the seconds ticked by, he glanced towards Clara and away again, until he burst out;

"Clara, I can't do it, don't make me do it!"

As soon as she had said the harsh truth, the visual evidence came rushing over the Doctor in a windswept memory. The feeling of Clara's soft skin against his, their lips dancing against each other, his hand ghosting over her body. It was such a sweet memory, one he would always treasure, but it felt like a guilty burden. Like it was something he shouldn't even be thinking about, let alone remembering. It made him swell with affection while at the same time, squirm with fear.

Best friends didn't sleep together. It shouldn't have happened.

And now he was just waiting for Clara to pack in their friendship altogether. Never speak to him again. Tell him that this was all a mistake, a terrible mistake, and one they could never go back on or fix.

Clara was angry now. She was bristling, ready to punch him, he could tell. She advanced even closer, and the Doctor shielded himself with his hands, just in time for her fury to unleash. "Why can't you acknowledge it?!" she roared. "Did you think you could just ignore me for the rest of your life?"

"Of course not," he shot back, his eyes softening. "I think about you everyday. All day everyday!"

This didn't seem to ease her anger. "Then why are you avoiding this conversation?!"

The Doctor floundered. "I – well, because, if I'm being honest, I thought you wouldn't want – I thought we couldn't be friends anymore," he exploded, the words tumbling out from his mouth, uncontrollably. He gave a deep sigh as he saw her expression flicker, her eyes widen. There was no going back now. He would have to fully explain himself. "Things get awkward when friends sleep together, especially when one has feelings and to the other it was just a fling, and I don't want to do anything to lose you. Anything at all. And I don't expect you to feel anything back to me, but I know we've probably ruined our friendship because of one stupid night and the thought of that makes me panic. I can't lose you Clara. So can we pretend it never happened? Please?"

He couldn't exactly read Clara's expression or reaction – her face was contorting in and out of emotions, each one fading as soon as it appeared. Slowly, she asked, "Okay, so let me get this straight. You think that what happened last week was a mistake – on my part?"

The Doctor reconsidered his words. "Yes. I think so."

"So…" Clara said, glancing down at her hands. "What was it on your part?"

He turned away from her slightly, his lips pulling down in the corners, as if they were being dragged by an invisible force. His heart felt heavy. "You know how I feel about you. I don't need to spell it out," he murmured.

"Actually, no, I really don't."

Their eyes met, and it was so reluctant and yet so hopeful, so unsure and yet so yearning, that it made both of them smile. "You don't?" he quizzed, quite clearly surprised at this revelation.

Clara couldn't shake away her grin. "No. Not at all."

"Okay. Well then. Um." He couldn't believe he was going to say this. After years and years of covering it up, keeping it a secret, even from himself, he was going to confess everything. Every single thing. It was now or never. "For as long as I can remember knowing you, I've had feelings for you, Clara Oswald. Very strong feelings. Very, very strong feelings. They've never went away – I've never wanted them to. So, there you go. That's it. Spelt out."

Almost immediately after he'd finished, Clara took hold of the Doctor's hands and held them close, over her heart. She was smiling now, as if this was all funny for some reason. Reluctantly, she began, "Doctor… Last week wasn't a fling for me either."

It took him a silent moment to understand what she was saying. "It – it wasn't?" he squeaked.

She entwined their hands together, so that their fingers were interlocking. She studied it instead of meeting his keen gaze. "We just _fit_, don't you think? Doctor and Clara, Clara and the Doctor. Like a dynamic duo." She released a nervous laugh. "And looking back over the past few years, that's the way it's always been."

The Doctor's mouth was dry and his whole vocabulary disappeared. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. It was too good to be true. Was he dreaming? The cupboard around his was fuzzy, blurry, as everything else flurried out of focus until there was nothing to look at but Clara. "So looking forward…" he tested, tilting her chin up so that she would look at him. "Do you think it's still meant to be?"

Her brown eyes were wide, searching, glazed with joyful tears. "Do you?"

"Always," he whispered, stroking her cheek. They were inching closer to each other with every breath. Being more sincere than he'd ever been in his entire life, he admitted, "I love you, Clara Oswald. More than anything or anyone on this world could ever know. To infinity and beyond."

Clara stifled a laugh with a little shake of her head. "Did you just quote _Toy Story_?" she asked incredulously.

The Doctor was too happy, too relieved, to even defend himself. "Shut up," he said.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn't like when he had kissed her before – he was holding back and uncertain of the future, careful of the consequences. This time he knew there were repercussions, and the difference it made was worth all of the awkward tension during the past week. Clara waited for him to make the first move, which was wholly unusual to say the least, and he took the challenge in his step. Brushing her hair away, he lost his lips against hers, and it occurred to him just then – Clara was right, they did _fit_ together.

The Doctor thought he would never, could never, miss an opportunity to kiss Clara. He would never get bored of it. The racing rhythm of his heart, and the blood pumping through his ears, and the hot grasp of pure, unadulterated, adoration twisting in his stomach was exactly what he'd call perfection. This, right here, was what he needed. All he needed. All he would ever need.

If he was old and sad and lonely, and someone asked him what his one regret would be looking back on his life, his answer would be clear and simple: he didn't meet Clara Oswald soon enough. He could never have enough time with Clara Oswald.

Outside, in the garden, the guests, friends and family were all moving to the reception tent beside the towering water fountain. Jack watched the droplets of water splash onto the grey gravel, with less impact than rain could ever have. With his hands in his pockets, Ianto approached, a broad smile overtaking his face. He kissed Jack lightly on the lips and pointed towards the tent.

"Don't you think we should wait for the Doctor? He needs to give his speech," Ianto said.

"Nah," Jack replied firmly, shaking his head and glancing back to the hotel. "I think he'll be lost in that cupboard for a very long time."


	8. 23rd November 2010

** A/N: I think you'll all like this chapter as well! I'm so grateful for every single review, you're all the best. Big thanks to DancingWithTheDoctor, bloomingredroses, saharajohanson, I-DreamedTheDream, dragonrider2345, Abby0512x, XxSnowyDreamsxX, sillysouffle, Anonalways, ImpossibleClara9, BlueGreen216, SissiWeasley, orchids117, sassywriterchick, Socks7, Dede42, NoLongerAGuest and the wonderful ThePotterDoctor. Hope you and enjoy, and keep reviewing guys! **

** Chapter Eight: 23****rd**** November 2010**

_28 years old_

Clara woke up to the sound of the Doctor snoring. She grimaced and pulled out of his arms, stretching her muscles as she flipped her feet over the side of the bed. She had a big day today – Clara, who was now Head of English Literature at Coal Hill School, had been organising a play with her year twelve pupils for the past three months. Tonight was the big night, production night, and in a few hours time the show would kick off to hundreds of proud and slightly embarrassed parents. With Clara single-handedly producing, writing and organising the 'best performance Coal Hill has ever seen' (according the overpriced tickets) the pressure was well and truly heavy on her small shoulders.

Miss Clohessy, the previous Head of department, had given Clara all of her notes when she retired – including a list of all the previous productions by the English department. The most popular drama on the list was _Oliver Twist_, followed closely _by Wuthering Heights _and _Romeo and Juliet_. Classics as they may be, Clara fancied the idea of producing something unusual and unpredictable, something that even the parents may not have heard of. In her naïve mind, she could imagine a brilliant performance that the children were overwhelmed by, and that the parents stopped to think about a sudden epiphany.

So, when she considered the profound and modernist play _Six Characters in Search of an Author_ by Luigi Pirandello, Clara decided to ask for Marian Clohessy's advice.

"Luigi Pirandello?" Marian squeaked. "Absolutely not, Clara, that's social suicide!"

"Okay, so his history may be controversial –"

"Not even the context, but the play itself! The kids nor the adults will be able to understand the metadrama, the themes, the meaning behind it – even university students have difficulty trying."

"I want to do something unusual, Marian," Clara told her, angrily flicking through the pile of books in front of her.

Marian sighed as if she was being unnecessarily stubborn. "Then why don't you do _Antony and Cleopatra_? The students will love dressing up in the –"

"Shakespeare – no way. Besides, I'm not the biggest fan." She picked up the last book in the collection and smiled as she read the title. "_The Crucible_! That would be good, surely? Delves in the history of witch hunting, slightly creepy to keep everyone hooked – not too long as well. What do you think, Marian?"

Despite Marian Clohessy's disapproval, Clara went ahead with it anyway. She spent weeks on end condensing the story into three hours of play time with two five minute intervals. She roped in her friend and co-worker, Tom, to help her cast the actors and hire the stagehands. Everything was in order after all of the hard work.

And she was sure _something_ would go wrong tonight.

The Doctor rolled over in their bed and wrapped his arm around Clara's waist. He propped himself up and pressed a kiss to her shoulder before leaning his head there. He could clearly sense her tension. "It'll be okay, Clara. You'll see. Everything will be perfect."

Clara leaned into his touch and sighed. "You'll definitely be there, won't you?"

"Where else would I be?" he scoffed. "And besides, even if I did have somewhere else to go, I wouldn't miss this for anything. I've seen the work you've put into it. You actually made me sympathise with Directors."

Six months ago, the Doctor had lost his job. It wasn't wholly unexpected, but it didn't mean he was prepared. The company was losing rank, status and costumers and no one could blame River Song leaving quite dramatically on their huge profit fall anymore. Perhaps it wasn't just because of the Doctor that she disappeared – maybe she was starting to see the chaos and corruption Gallifrey was becoming.

Now, the Doctor was unemployed. He was trying to find his next calling – his next big career, and he was more than grateful that Clara was prepared to look after both of them until he found his bearings. He promised he'd repay her eventually, even if she didn't accept the money. But each passing day his chest swelled more and more with affection and love, and each day his big ideas expanded with every ache of his heart.

"What time will you be there?" Clara asked. The concern was obvious in the slight squeak to her tone.

"I'll get there slightly before seven o'clock and visit you backstage. How about that?"

Smiling, she twisted around to kiss his lips.

* * *

"Susan! Susan!" Clara shouted down the corridor leading the stage. She spun around to one of her other pupils, Arthur, and demanded, "How can we start the show without our Abigail?!"

Arthur, who was standing there dressed as a typical Reverend, said, "I don't know, Miss. Last time I saw her she was with Tommy Miller."

"Tommy Mil – but he's not even in the play!" Clara shrieked, squeezing the script in her hand.

Daniel, rather eager to please, ran up to Clara, slightly out of breath. He was a runner. "Is there anything else I can do, Miss Oswald?"

Clara approached the tall boy and pointed her rolled up script at his chest. "_Find_ Tommy Miller, _and_ when you find Tommy Miller, _tell_ Susan that she needs to get here right away or I'll fail them both in every subject!"

Just behind her, Arthur put in, "But, Miss, you can't fail them in every –"

"Arthur! Can't you see I'm _trying_ to be intimidating?"

She knew Arthur was trying to stifle laughter, she knew most of her on looking pupils were, but Clara hadn't any time for patience. She needed results, more importantly, she needed her actors, and right now she needed to give a prep talk to the entirety of her cast – stagehands included. Clara gestured for everyone to huddle forward. She gave them her most shining smile, and as her eyes gazed over every single one of them, she couldn't help but feel a burst of pride.

"This is the best drama production Coal Hill has ever seen," Clara started. "Not last years, not next years, but _this_ year. We want to show what we're made of, right? Everyone here knows their lines, knows their cues and more importantly, knows how to improvise if something goes wrong. It's not the end of the world if you make a small mistake – the show goes on. How's everyone feeling? Confident?"

Before anyone could answer, their little huddle was broken up by a girl wearing a blonde wig running right into them. "Susan, thank god you're here!" Clara exclaimed, quickly releasing a repressed sigh. "Everything in order?"

"Yeah," Susan said, looking a bit shy. "Sorry, Miss."

"You're here now – that's what matters." Thinking of this, Clara glanced towards the backstage door, muttering, "Where _is_ he?"

Just as Clara made a move to readjust Susan's wig, an awkward falling mass collapsed through the stage curtains. Unravelling himself from the velvet and silk, the Doctor stood up and brushed himself down while rearranging his bowtie. He beamed as he saw Clara, opening his arms wide to wrap her up in a comforting hug. She walked over to him, with her eyebrows raised, as she said, "You thought the best way to get here was by walking through the stage?"

"Not the best – the quickest," the Doctor responded with a cheeky wink. He leaned down and easily captured her lips, losing himself for a moment in kissing Clara. As they pulled away, a teasing chorus of '_oooo_oooh' erupted from Clara's students. While Clara flushed pink, the Doctor pointed at the group of teenagers, saying, "You do Miss Oswald proud, you hear me? I know the amount of effort she's put into this. You should all be grateful you have such a committed teacher."

"Is that your boyfriend, Miss?" shouted Luke, dangling on the curtain rope. His grin was mischievous and self-satisfied.

The Doctor scoffed. "Yeah, kid, she's definitely taken."

Clara slapped the Doctor lightly on the chest and tore herself away from him. Turning to her pupils, she said for the last time, "We're going to take our seats. I'll give the okay for you to start in ten minutes, alright? Good luck everyone! You'll be brilliant!"

* * *

The play went down a treat. With no major disasters (apart from Susan mispronouncing a name or two and Luke closing the curtains too early) parents and pupils alike whistled and cheered as the cast held hands and bowed to the crowd. Clara was already crying when Mrs Killen, the headmistress, called her onto the stage to thank her for organising everything. She received a standing ovation from the audience, but the loudest and proudest cheer of all was from the Doctor. If he wasn't surrounded by watchful kids who would surely tease him, he probably would've been crying too.

Following the successful play, Clara and the Doctor conversed with Clara's work colleagues and some of the more eager parents. The Doctor studied her face as she gracefully accepted more compliments and pats on the back, letting her have her moment to shine. When she managed to get ten seconds of alone time with him, she whispered in his ear that she was tired, and if he could think of a way out of this, she'd be completely grateful. So, when the time was right, the Doctor broke away from the crowd, dragging Clara behind him and they bolted for the main exit.

They stopped at the double doors when they saw it was pouring with rain outside. The raindrops were bouncing back into the air as they hit the sodden pavement. Neither of them had a jacket, or had brought enough money to get a taxi home. There was nothing else for it – they'd have to run.

The Doctor took the first leap. He splashed right into the centre of a deceiving puddle, soaking through the bottom of his trousers. Clara laughed at the disgusted look on his face. Looking over at her gloating chuckles, he ran over to her and held her tightly, pulling her outside with him. With a glint of humour in her shiny brown eyes, Clara grasped onto his hand and started to run through the rain.

As they were running, both of them laughing, the Doctor was overcome with emotion. Seeing the absolute joy on Clara's face as she accepted the appraising claps, watching as she accepted the compliments with grace and modesty and admiring the way her eyes sparkled with pride for her pupils – it was all making the Doctor an emotional, appreciative wreck. He wanted to see the unadulterated happiness on her face again, he wanted a moment where it was only between them and only he could see it. Most of all, _he_ wanted to be the one to give Clara the most joy.

In the end, it was purely impulsive. The thought had been circling his mind for a few months now, and the planning in his head had officially begun, but nothing could beat the feeling of when the moment was right. This, right here, was the perfect moment. This moment could never be relived. He had never felt so sure about something in his entire life.

He pulled on her hand so that she came to a stop. She spun around, the wet hair flicking over her face, her eyes shining with a soft confusion. The Doctor held her other hand, smiling brighter than the sun.

With the words toppling out of his mouth in a string of incoherent words, he muttered, "_Willyoumarryme_?"

Clara giggled, watching single drops of rain fall onto his cheek from his soaking hair. "What did you say?" she laughed.

The Doctor gulped. This was his chance to backtrack, to pull away, to retreat from this offer.

But he didn't want to. _This_ is what he wanted, more than anything in the world.

So, as the rain continued to pour, and the both of them wet to the skin, the Doctor heaved a deep breath and slid down onto one knee.

Clara's grin vanished instantly.

"I said, Clara Oswald, will you marry me?"

Clara's face paled. Her entire body felt numb. The Doctor's eyes were looking back at her with fierce passion and absolute determination, and now she knew – he was being serious. Completely serious.

Her heart started to hammer against her ribs.

"Well?" he croaked, his gaze slowly turning to sorrowful. "What do you say?"

Without a moment of hesitation, Clara lunged on top of the Doctor. She flung her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly, decorating his face and neck with small kisses. She brushed away his damp hair as she pulled away to stare into his eyes. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes, I will marry you!"

The Doctor let out a shocked laugh. He jumped to his feet, hoisted Clara in the air and spun her around in a circle. Holding her in the air, he kissed her deeply. He knew he couldn't stop smiling – he wouldn't ever stop smiling.

Clara Oswald had agreed to marry him.

This was their piece of forever.


	9. 23rd November 2011

**A/N: I just wanted to say, before the story takes a twist next chapter, that I'm making a playlist for this story (like a soundtrack – a song per chapter) and once this whole fic is complete, I'm going to post it on tumblr, if you're interested in that! If you don't have tumblr, I'd be happy to message you the list. I absolutely love hearing from you and know you're all reading, so big thanks to the reviewers from last time: Linesy, Foeseeker, bloomingredroses, saharajohanson, Anonalways, Abby0512x, xandrota, sassywriterchick, ImpossibleClara9, orchids117, Dede42, FandomsAreCool, Someone, sillysouffle, Guest, Tom and the lovely OhMyStarsShiz!**

** Chapter Nine: 23****rd**** November 2011**

_29 years old _

"I don't like him."

"You don't?"

"No," the Doctor said, shaking his head adamantly as they stared at the television. "There's just something about him. Can't quite place it."

"Oh, I don't know," Clara teased, biting her lip and turning to face her husband. "I think there's something incredibly sexy about a bad guy."

The Doctor met her stare. He narrowed his eyes because he knew she was purposefully trying to evoke a jealous retort. "There's a difference between a bad guy and a terrorist, Clara."

She couldn't help but laugh. The Doctor and Clara were snuggled up in a blanket on top of the sofa in their apartment, catching up on the weekly episode of their favourite sci-fi show. It only hit Clara now and again that they had been married for two months, that this was _their_ apartment with their photographs decorating the fireplace, their books on the shelves, their bedroom and their bits and bobs furnishing the living room. It all felt like a dream – this was their grown up life. Together.

Clara let her hand dangle across the Doctor's shoulder and stroke his unshaven cheek. He moved into her touch, wrapping his arm around her waist. Clara twisted around to capture his lips, running her tongue across his bottom lip. The Doctor returned the kiss with a growing enthusiasm, repositioning himself for a better angle. His hands gripped her sides, kissing her passionately. Clara let him take the lead, holding onto his hair and sliding her fingers through his locks. The Doctor redirected his lips to her neck, his hands finding their way underneath her top, and that was when Clara pulled away.

"Doctor," she warned, "my dad is going to be here in half an hour."

He looked up at her, his eyes wide and beseeching, his hair sticking up in all directions. "_Clara_! It's unfair for you to tease me with a kiss like that."

Clara raised her eyebrows. She was challenging him. Leaning forward, she made a move to kiss him again but the Doctor stuck his index finger against her lips, pushing her back. She frowned and crossed her eyes to stare at him indignantly, unable to understand what he was doing.

"Nope," he said in his most huffy voice, "your dad is going to be here in half an hour. You're dangerous."

Clara slapped away his hand. "Dangerous, am I?"

"Yes." He gently lifted her off his lap and got to his feet. "You're too irresistible. It's dangerous. So, if you excuse me, I'm going to have a shower and change into something more presentable before your father gets here."

Even then, as he was walking over to the bathroom door, his eyes wandered back to Clara, who was still sitting smugly on the sofa, smiling down at her hands. He dragged himself away, locking the door behind him in case she decided to follow. Clara rolled her eyes and switched off the television. She wasn't used to the Doctor being the sensible one, she happily knew she could get her own way quite easily with him, but then again – he had reason to be sensible when Dave Oswald was involved.

Especially since the first time the Doctor and Dave Oswald had met, the Doctor had been completely naked.

It was a story Clara would revel in telling her future grandchildren.

No wonder he was calling Clara dangerous in the circumstances.

It was around half an hour later, Clara and the Doctor were dressed with the table prepared for Dave Oswald to arrive for Sunday dinner. The Doctor had done most of the cooking – a past time he now regularly committed to – and Clara had made a rather scrumptious looking soufflé. (The Doctor didn't want to admit that Clara's soufflé had deflated while baking, and he had replaced it with one of his own, an exact replica, just so she wouldn't get upset.)

Dave Oswald was right on time; just like how he'd been for most of his life. Clara greeted her father with an open-armed hug, while the Doctor resorted to a friendly and light handshake. Dave was completely grey now and had laughter lines around his eyes, along with a slight tug of a wrinkle under his lips. His face was a constant picture of happy and sad; with the happy moments in his life being truly the happiest, and the saddest balancing them out.

Clara looked more like her mother than her father, the Doctor always noted from photographs. The only resemblance between father and daughter was the mischievous twinkle in their eyes, every time they smiled. And by the sound of their laughter, the Doctor reckoned the Oswald family household used to be a very happy and safe place for Clara when she was growing up. Dave's eyes simply said one thing when he looked at her: he adored her.

_No more than me_, the Doctor always said to himself. Perhaps he always experienced Clara-loving envy.

"Wine," Dave said, handing the bottle to his son-in-law. "And a belated two month anniversary present," he added, handing a package to his daughter. "Now, where's the feast?"

"Roasted stuffed peppers with couscous, bacon and a side of salad," the Doctor started as Clara led the way over to the table. He wasn't trying too hard to please, more like, trying too hard to justify himself. "Then we have roast chicken, stuffing and –"

"John," Dave said, sitting down facing the two of them. "Have you switched careers again?"

Only his parents ever referred to him as 'John Smith' but Clara had yet to explain why everyone called her husband 'the Doctor.' It felt too long, too irrelevant, and technically Dave was right, so they never bothered to correct the nickname.

The Doctor stuttered to reply. "No – no, I haven't, why?"

"You've miraculously turned into a michelin star chef overnight, that's why," Dave teased. "I would've been happy with shop-bought produce, John; there was no need to go out of the way."

"Honestly, Dave, it was no trouble," he said humbly, while Clara smirked. He'd been slaving over the cooker for two days, and he still insisted he made the absolute minimum effort.

"So, how's married life treating you, hm? I must say, you've kept the apartment in perfect order."

Clara affectionately patted the Doctor's arm. "Well, you've got John to thank for most of that. Now that he's working from home."

Dave couldn't help but look impressed. "How is my favourite son-in-law's job going?"

"I'm your only son-in-law," he objected.

Still smiling, Dave brushed it off. "Let's not get picky, shall we?"

All the Doctor needed was a bit of self confidence. During his time in Gallifrey, he'd forgotten his true talent – inventing. Fixing things. Wasn't that where his nickname originated? Last Christmas he had opened a repair shop, with the help of some sponsoring from Clara. She wouldn't let him take out a loan, not when she had savings of her own. For a few months he committed himself to his new job so that he and Clara could afford their wedding. He enjoyed it more than he anticipated, and during his free time, Clara would find him in their bedroom, meddling with the radio or the toaster. Trying to improve it. After their wedding, the Doctor hired a helper – Craig Owens. Craig looked after the shop, managed the new orders while the Doctor spend most of his time at home, planning and researching and inventing. The Doctor was making a pretty penny now, from his combined resources at the repair shop and selling off his own inventions to private retailers. Despite the many offers he received, he swore never to be sold to a company ever again. Freelancing was his passion, without the regular routine and scrutiny of a money making company, the Doctor felt free at heart.

"It's going well, thanks. I have a meeting on Wednesday with a business executive who is interested in my blueprints for a new creation of mine," he said, being modest, glancing down at the table.

"The new Einstein of our generation," Clara praised proudly.

"And what about you, sweetheart?" asked Dave, turning to his daughter.

What about Clara? Well, life at Coal Hill was going very well for her. She was one of the most loved teachers ever to walk through those doors, and despite her age, the promotions kept coming. Over the past year she had completely renovated the English department. She was organising another play, this time for Christmas – _A Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens. Her pupils, of all ages, were getting good grades and Clara loved every second of it. For a while now, she was under the suspicion that Mrs Killen, the current headmistress, was training her up, taking her under her wing, almost preparing her for something. Last week they had a very unusual conversation.

"How long are you thinking of staying at Coal Hill, Clara?"

"Why?" Clara had joked, stacking the last novel on the shelf. "Do you want rid of me?"

Mrs Killen grinned – it was faint and quick, as was her usual personality. A difficult woman to those who misunderstood her; a compassionate, tired woman for those who did. "You're a young teacher. Not even thirty. Yet, you command the pupils like you've been here longer than me. You could excel somewhere a lot more established than Coal Hill."

Scrunching up her nose and crossing her arms around her chest, Clara shook her head. "Nah. I like it here. Posh isn't really for me. I'll stay for as long as you'll have me."

A silence fell between them. Mrs Killen's eyes drifted to the window behind Clara's desk. Clara waited for her to speak, as it was obvious she was thinking of what to say or how to say it.

"I'm thinking of leaving soon."

"Leaving?" Clara squeaked, unnerved.

Mrs Killen met her gaze. "Within the next five years or so. I'm quite firm on that point. I'm also concerned as to who would take over once I'm away. You see, Clara, when I was at school, the headmaster changed twice. Everyone loved the current Principle, and when he was replaced by a less likable character, it felt like an imposter running our school. Children, especially teenagers, need a figure they can look up to. Someone to keep them in check, but also, someone who they _like_. Do you understand what I mean?"

Clara didn't respond. She had a feeling she knew what Mrs Killen was implying, but she couldn't be certain she wasn't misinterpreting. Hearing something else entirely. It wasn't until Mrs Killen took a few steps towards the classroom door, and confirmed her suspicions, that Clara allowed herself to reply.

"All I'm saying is, age shouldn't be a factor in who is suitable for a role. Especially a role as important as headmistress." Mrs Killen paused. "Gerald is older than me. He's retiring at the end of the next year, and soon after, I will follow him. Meaning, I'll need a new deputy to replace him, and in turn, replace me." She turned around as soon as she reached the threshold. Her eyes locked onto Clara's face. "I _will_ fight in your corner, Clara."

She had yet to tell the Doctor, or her father, anything from that conversation. Not that she was intentionally being secretive, it was more to do with Clara not even realising that this might be something she wanted, until Mrs Killen had suggested it to her. It was a lot of responsibility, probably too much, but Clara preferred to focus on the opportunity. How could she turn an offer like that down, considering her age?

"Another promotion might be in sight," was all she told the two of them. "But I don't know any details yet." To quickly change the conversation, she asked, "And how's the politics going, dad?"

As Dave Oswald started his rambling and in-depth analysis to every little aspect of his day, the Doctor excused himself to serve up the starter. It was a thing Dave did quite frequently – he couldn't briefly describe how he was, he had to have a discussion. The Doctor didn't blame – or judge – him for this, in fact, he felt rather sorry for the man. He lived on his own in Blackpool for most of the year, in an empty family house, all by himself. Every few months he would stay in his rented London home, whether that was for his job or just to feel closer to Clara, the Doctor wasn't sure anymore. Dave was lonely, and due to his job, many people he talked to on a day to day basis were indifferent to him. So, when he came across someone who actually seemed to care, he let everything spill.

It was when they were in the middle of eating their main course of roasted chicken and stuffing, that Dave said something mildly sensitive.

"So, when can I be expecting grandkids?"

Both Clara and the Doctor reacted in exactly the same way. They dropped their cutlery and stared wide eyed at Dave, like two scared teenagers asked if they were dating. Suddenly the space in between the two of them felt like static electricity, and if one of them made a sudden movement, they were sure to be shocked.

"What?" they both echoed.

Dave laughed. He sat back on his chair, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, come on. This is something you've talked about before. People usually have this conversation before they get married!"

"Um…" the Doctor stared. His neck was hot, his cheeks were burning. Why, oh why, did Dave have to mention this?

"We haven't really…" Clara trailed off.

The Doctor rushed ahead. "I mean, we're definitely going to have them, but –"

Clara spun around, her hair whipping about. "We are?!"

He tried to back track. "I mean, I thought, I don't know!"

"We haven't talked about this before; I didn't know you were so enthusiastic!"

The Doctor well and truly blushed. "I'm not _enthusiastic_! I mean, I am, one day, not right now, unless…"

Dave raised his hands, instantly bringing silence down between them. "I didn't mean to intrude. That was obviously the wrong question to ask."

They sat there, like two scolded children, staring down at their plates.

Sighing, reminiscently, Dave interjected to diffuse the tension, "Ellie would've loved this. She would've said exactly the right thing."

He said it with such tenderness, tinted with regret, that it made the Doctor's heart melt. His eyes flicked over to Clara, who in turn appeared to be a little deflated. He swiftly remembered the soufflé ready to be served, and knowing this would brighten up the situation considerably, the Doctor announced;

"Clara, speaking of your mother, don't you want to show your father what you made yesterday?"

Her entire face lit up when she remembered the soufflé. Using it as the perfect excuse to leave the table, Clara ran into the kitchen. Left alone with Dave, the Doctor smiled. Dave returned it, mouthing a silent 'sorry.' But it was okay, the Doctor wasn't annoyed – after all, Dave was probably right. He and Clara should have discussed the topic of children long before today. What if they wanted different things?

He failed to see that happening, somehow.

Dave was overjoyed to see Clara's attempt at making her mother's recipe. One spoonful into it, and he claimed it was 'just as good as Ellie's.' This made the Doctor feel guilty until he saw the look on Clara's face.

Dave stayed for a few hours after dinner. Later that evening, when Dave was leaving for his London accommodation, he hugged the Doctor for the first time since the wedding. He muttered something along the lines of 'I have to admit, she could've done a hell of a lot worse.' He knew that was the best compliment he could ever hope for from a proud father, and it made him glow inside.

Clara was clearly exhausted. She fell down on the sofa, her hair splaying over the cushions, her eyes flickering closed.

The Doctor had so much to say to her. But not yet.

It was these little moments. The little bits in between, when time just slowed down and an aura of light flew down from heaven and rested on his shoulders. It was moments like this that enlightened the Doctor to just how beautiful Clara was, inside and out. He noticed her beauty every day, of course, but now and again the extent of it would hit him like a brick to the face. He was enraptured by her, and he couldn't believe his luck in life every time he realised she was the person he would spend the rest of his days with – she was his forever. What did he do to deserve her?

"You're my whole world, do you know that?" he asked.

And unbeknown to the Doctor, Clara Oswald opened her eyes to stare back at him, and was thinking exactly the same thing.

* * *

**Note: This was a little catch up chapter where we can see where our two main characters are in life and where they're going next. As for the next chapter, it's going to take a little longer to write. I don't want to give anything away but it's sure to be a big one. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!**


	10. 23rd November 2012

**A/N: I'm saying nothing… apart from thank you to my wonderful reviewers from last time: Guest, geogirl2014, JasmineThomas, bloomingredroses, OswinSmith, orchids117, Mireborn, DancingWithTheDoctor, Anonalways, Guest, OhMyStarsShiz, Abby0512x, ImpossibleClara9, Tom, Dede42, Guest, I-DreamedTheDream and the lovely sassywriterchick. This is an important chapter guys, so reviews would mean the world to me! **

** Chapter Ten: 23****rd**** November 2012**

_30 years old_

"Doctor! Doctor!" Clara called from the bottom of the stairs. "Do you have her bunny? I can't find it anywhere!"

There was a shuffle and then a bang, followed by a very loud swear. "Yeah!" he called, hopping over the floor. "Got it here!"

Clara heaved out a sigh. "Thank god for that," she murmured, sliding back into the kitchen. Sky was sitting in her basket, her tiny fist reaching out for her toy bunny, her little nose wrinkling with oncoming tears. Clara couldn't stand the sound of her crying, and with a sympathetic grimace, she reached into the pink basket and held her daughter in her arms, patting her back and muttering words of grace against her bobbing head.

Looking back on her life, Clara would say this was her busiest year yet. Last Christmas she had found out she was pregnant, and until then, she hadn't realised that this is what she really wanted all along – her own little family. It was the best Christmas present she could ever give her dad, her gran and especially the Doctor. He had sobbed when he found out the news, so much so, Clara had to guide him over to the sofa, worried he might faint.

After that, everything was a blur. They didn't have enough room to stay in their cosy apartment, and with the help from both of their families, managed to buy a three bedroom house just outside of London. It was conveniently close to Clara's school, and with the Doctor mostly working from home, the fact he had to drive ten minutes more to check up on Craig in the shop seemed like a fair deal. They had spent all of their free time decorating their house, turning it into a perfect home.

When their bundle of joy arrived two months ago, both Clara and the Doctor claimed she was the most beautiful thing either of them had ever seen. At eight pounds and one day early with a full head of dark hair, the Doctor had cried more than Clara at the sight of her. As for her name, it wasn't a hard choice. While the Doctor reminisced about how they had met, on that fateful night nine years previously, watching the night sky and thinking of the future, Clara had suggested they name their daughter in honour of that night. Sky. If they hadn't shared that moment together under the stars, they may not be here today, nursing their beautiful new born daughter. It seemed a perfect name, in the light of things.

Now Clara was back working at Coal Hill, and the Doctor was left alone every day taking care of their daughter. Clara hated to leave, but she knew she had to all the same. Around about twice a week the Doctor would call in to see her at lunch time, bringing Sky along with him and dressing her in new cute little outfits. Clara's students would crowd around to see her, amazed at such a tiny spectacle, and before long, most of Clara's colleagues would join them.

The Doctor claimed she was the most popular little baby out there. And he'd never felt more proud.

That evening Clara and the Doctor were attending Jack and Ianto's anniversary dinner. Since it was a meal and not a night out (all of their friends were grown out of that stage by now) they were bringing Sky along to the restaurant, as neither parent wanted to leave her with an external carer. Every moment was beautiful and they didn't want to miss a second.

The Doctor came running down the stairs, still dressed in his pyjamas. He beamed as he saw Clara rocking Sky in her arms. "You're going to be late," he said, gesturing to the clock on the wall.

Clara groaned, knowing he was right, but not wanting to let go. She pressed soft kisses to her daughter's forehead and muttered the same thing she did every morning. "Now you take care of daddy, Sky. God knows someone needs to when I'm not around."

He chuckled and held out his arms to take her weight. Clara begrudgingly handed her over. She watched as the Doctor held her against his chest, dancing from foot to foot, as if he was waltzing. "We make the perfect pair, don't we, Sky?" Her eyelids fluttered and he laughed again. "Yes, yes we do!"

Clara's heart squeezed with affection. It was the most magical scene; seeing her daughter cherished by her wonderful husband. It made her whole body glow. She ran up to the both of them, encasing her family in a tight hug. "I'll miss you both, as always."

The Doctor lowered his head to sweep her up in a kiss. "I'll see you at the restaurant at seven o'clock, yeah?"

Pulling away, Clara pretended to huff at him. "I may be ten minutes late. Considering _someone_ still hasn't fixed the car and I have to walk."

"Sorry. I'll fix it tomorrow." He moved Sky into one arm so that he could cross his heart with his free one. "I promise."

Clara stood on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Hm. You better."

She slipped on her heels and hoisted her teaching bag over her shoulder. She checked her reflection in the mirror, repositioned her dress, flicked her hair over her shoulders and hurried over to the front door. Just as she opened it, the Doctor followed her, sticking his lips out into a funny pout. Clara giggled and rolled her eyes.

"One more kiss, come on," the Doctor teased at the threshold, while Sky blinked up at him, her big eyes wide open.

Smirking, Clara back tracked to press a last kiss to his lips. "After all these years you still can't get enough, can you?"

"Never," he promised. He stared at his wife as she trotted down the garden path, briefly turning around to blow him a kiss. He waved goodbye and carefully lifted Sky's tiny hand as if she was waving too. He called, "Love you!"

And just before Clara disappeared, she shouted, "I know!"

* * *

The Doctor committed himself to cleaning the house. He was sure he should be finishing his blueprints on a new creation (a long metal stick using sonic technology, which he frequently nicknamed a screwdriver) but for some reason, he felt the need to do an act of kindness. He could imagine Clara's face when they came home tonight from Jack and Ianto's anniversary dinner, beaming and throwing herself into his arms when she realised he'd made the effort to scrub the entire house. Since the thought made him chuckle, he decided it was worth it.

He started from the bottom and worked his way up. It wasn't until he reached the bedroom, when he was reminded of something Clara had said a few weeks previously. She had told him, quite sternly, not to go near – under any circumstances – the bottom drawer on their double wardrobe. Now he remembered her tone, her daring glare, her crossed arms, he felt an overwhelming burst of curiosity. One he couldn't ignore.

"It's your Christmas present," she had said. "I've been working on it for ages – you could say years – and I've been waiting for the right moment to give it to you. So promise me, you won't ruin it for yourself."

He'd been catching up on the football at the time, so hardly paid any attention.

But now the temptation was too much to handle.

"What do you say, Sky?" he asked, looking over to his daughter. "Shall it be our little secret? I won't tell if you don't."

For once he was glad Sky wasn't old enough to talk back. If her personality was as similar to Clara's as was her looks, he would've been in big trouble.

_What the hell_, he told himself_, might as well put that Drama GCSE into good use_.

He kneeled in front of the wardrobe, and slowly teased open the drawer. The Doctor felt like a kid unlocking a magical object in that moment. The drawer itself was completely empty, apart from one single book. _Typical Clara, always obsessed with books_, he thought.

It was red velvet and soft to the touch. It was clearly well cared for. He slid it out of its hiding place and dropped it in his lap.

The Doctor almost felt guilty for opening it. Almost.

There was a note attached to the inside of the front of cover, in Clara's own curly handwriting.

_ To my Doctor, _

_ Call me sentimental, but I thought it was finally time to give you this book. There is a long story showcased on these pages – there is no point of me explaining since it's not just my story. It's our story. _

_ Yes, that's right. All those years ago when we first became friends and you abandoned me for far off places, and we wrote lengthy amazing letters to each other… Well, I was soppy back then. I thought it might be a good idea to save those letters and put them in a book. _

_ After that, the book started to grow. It became a friendship book. Anything important to us, all the bits in between, are recorded right here. Only, through time, the friendship book magically transformed into a relationship book. And the relationship book turned into a married couple book, and the last few pages are now a 'look at our beautiful daughter' book. _

_ With that, call it what you want. All I know is half of this book is full of our memories, the other half is blank. For the days left to come. Now, after nearly ten years of knowing you, I think it's time to hear your side. It's time for the second half. _

_ I love you, you big idiot. I can just imagine your face reading this, alone in our bedroom, weeks before Christmas, preparing to pretend that you hadn't read it at all. _

_ If this book shows anything, Doctor, it shows that I know you better than anyone. So don't even try. _

_ So, I hope you keep our book safe, and I hope you don't tease me too much for keeping this a secret for all of these years. _

_ Lots of love, your one and only wife (I hope), _

_ Clara Xx. _

With tears in his eyes, and an unusual feeling in his heart, the Doctor started to read the book.

Clara was right (but then again, she was always right), every page held a memory. Some of which, the Doctor was ashamed to admit, even he had forgotten. Letters, photographs, train tickets of their travels together, all complied together with charming little notes and annotations from Clara. This was their life, right here, in front of them. Everything they had ever known collected in a bright red velvet book.

Which was now his most treasured possession.

After a few hours of reading and laughing with tear glazed cheeks, the Doctor sighed and put it away. Sky was sleeping soundly in her basket, and for a moment, he could only stop and stare. All of those memories in that book had led to the creation of a perfect human being. He was caught up in the inexcusable variety and coincidence of life. The next adventure at every turn, never knowing what was coming around the corner, and for the first time he'd understood the impact behind the saying _carpe diem_. No wonder people feared the unknown; logically, it was the only thing you should really fear.

Despite these thoughts running through his mind, the Doctor sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. Contently. Then a terrifying idea hit him: what was he going to get Clara for Christmas? How could _he_ do better than that?

* * *

Clara had managed to get away a little earlier than usual. It was half five, and she was balancing a bag of books in one hand and reaching for her phone with the other. She had less essay marking to catch up on than she expected, and now she was sure she would have enough time to get home and change before Jack and Ianto's anniversary dinner.

Quickly dialling her husband's number as she tottered down the street; Clara wanted to tell him the good news before he thought to leave for the restaurant.

She was met by a voice that was clearly not the Doctor.

_ Sorry, the person you are trying to reach cannot be contacted at this time. Please leave a message after the tone. Beeeep. _

Clara stopped on the pavement and rolled her eyes. "Have you left your phone uncharged _again_? And yet, you're always going on at me for being the bad one with technology. Anyway, I was calling to let you know I'm going to be home a little bit early, so don't leave without me. If you get this in time. Which you probably won't. So this is a bit pointless. If I do catch you, great, if I don't and you listen to this in the restaurant without me: _this is why you should charge your phone!_ Oh and another thing; I love you. I would say that every moment of every day if I could, but then I think conversation would get a bit repetitive. See you soon!"

Clara clicked off the call , and while dropping her phone back into her bag, stepped out onto the road.

And once again, they were hit by the inexcusable variety and coincidence in life.

Clara heard the impact before she felt it.

Just a little bit too late, the driver slammed down on the squealing breaks. Fallen books littered the road, with ripped pages flying through the wind, story after story shredded, dancing on the breeze, all surrounding the woman lying on the concrete.

Clara blinked up at the sky, at the circling storm clouds, squinting, her mind struggling to catch up. Had she fallen over? She was lying on the ground.

When she tried to move, she felt the pain. Her head was aching, banging, slamming down on Clara's vision, making everything turn upside down. Time was out of order, everything was out of sorts, and as the realisation started to build, she felt a mild burst of panic. It took her a few moments to open her eyes again, to focus, her eyelids were solid lead. Her blurry vision revealed faces, faces she knew she should recognise, calling her name, all from the school just across from where she was lying. How much time had passed?

"Get an ambulance!" they called. "She's bleeding!"

"Clara, Clara," an older woman said, leaning over her, redirecting her gaze. Was that Mrs Killen? She couldn't tell. Her vision was getting blurrier. "Clara, you have to stay awake! Do you hear me? Clara!"

But she couldn't. She had no control. Her eyelids dropped and everything swirled out of reality.

On the roadside, teachers were now gathered with shocked students. The sound of an ambulance approaching in the distance muted the noise of crying, unshed tears, cries of distress. Everything was busy, busy, busy, and yet, everything around Clara was dragging painfully slow.

Mrs Killen, thinking entirely on impulse, spotted Clara's phone resting on the pavement, small beads of glass shattered around it. She needed to call someone – someone needed to be here for Clara. She ran over and picked it up, and perhaps it was a small fragment of luck that the phone itself was still working. She flicked through the contacts, searching for her husband, but found no one under the name 'John Smith.' Without a second thought, she scrolled past the most called contact. It was labelled 'the Doctor.'

Desperate now, Pauline Killen landed on the next best thing: _Dad_.

Turning away from the scene in front of her, she made the call. Before Dave Oswald had a chance to say anything, Mrs Killen interjected, "Mr Oswald? I'm afraid there has been an accident."

* * *

It was dark outside now, as it was on these early winter nights, and the Doctor was sitting inside the restaurant, tapping his index finger across the table.

Jack, in the middle of an animated conversation, said, "Are you alright? You look worried."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just worried as to where Clara is, that's all." He glanced across to Sky, and then back to Jack. "Actually, do you mind if I use your phone to call her? I had to use my mobile battery to help with a new design I'm working on. Don't tell Clara, she'd be furious."

But as the Doctor slipped outside to make the phone call, all he did was listen to the continuous ringing without an answer.

And that was when he grabbed his coat.

* * *

The hospital room was silent except for the soft sound of sobs.

Dave Oswald sat at his daughter's bedside, his head lowered, hidden. All he could think about was John and the baby, and how on earth he was going to contact him. He had tried calling their house phone, but there was no answer. As for his mobile, Dave kept on trying.

What if something happened and he wasn't here?

Dave could use the company right now.

It was five past seven, according to his watch. He'd been here an hour already, and Clara hadn't move an inch. With every passing second his heart became a little heavier, with every shallow breath his skin shivered a little colder. It was as if his body was already shielding itself against the heartbreak, the onslaught of loneliness ready to destroy his life.

For a second time.

When the doctor had told him what was wrong in that clinical, nasal voice of his, Dave only snatched a few words from the sentence: internal bleeding, broken ribs, head injury. After that, he didn't want to hear anymore.

He held onto Clara's cold hand. Grasped it. So tightly that she had to feel. "You're Clara Oswald, and you're _strong_. If anyone can make it through, it's you. Even if you're scared, if you're petrified right now, I know you can do this Clara. I know it."

As if she could hear him, and as if she was partly awake, Clara's lips moved. "_Daddy_," she whispered, her voice barely there at all.

Dave jumped to his feet. His breathing ragged. His whole mind blank. He looked around for what to do, his eyes briefly turning to the heart monitor, beeping out Clara's pulse. He kissed her head, closed his eyes, felt the tug on his heart strings. "Take your time, honey. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Was this too good to be true?

Clara's lips trembled. There was only one thing in her mind, and yet so many words she wanted to say. She needed to say. She didn't have the strength. With one last push, and with the last of her energy, she murmured:

"I need…"

Dave looked down at his daughter, his expression full of hope and sheer determination. "What is it? What do you need?"

Clara pulled open her eyes. The shade of brown, exactly like her mother's, held their last spark of life. Dave Oswald had seen it before, fourteen years previously. He gasped, pulled back and released a heart breaking sob from the bottom of his soul. Her gaze was dazed, faded, only partly there, already moving on. She tried to smile, to ease the fracture in his heart, but couldn't quite manage it.

"_I need the Doctor_," Clara whispered softly.

Just as she said it, the heart monitor started to pick up speed. Dave was begging, crying, spinning around, desperately trying to figure out what he should do. Without holding back, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "Help! HELP! SHE SAYS SHE NEEDS A DOCTOR!"

There was a scramble from far off, somewhere outside. Everything was spinning, colliding around Dave, disappearing and reappearing, hurting each time. His world was ending, everything he had left. Gone. Shattering. Lying on the hospital floor, in pieces, along with his broken heart.

"Clara, please, _please_. No, _no_. Don't leave us."

She stared up at her father, uneasily calm, like the world around her was serene, being replaced by another. She wanted to smile, to reassure, to have one final speech. One people would remember her for. But she couldn't. There wasn't enough time. She knew what was happening; her body was tired, aching, and most of all her heart – her heart, that had always belonged to the Doctor, was racing for the finish line, her last bit of fight still denying the truth.

So, as she felt herself slowly disappear, she held onto one image and one image alone. This morning, in a whole other world, the happiest image of her life; the Doctor dancing with Sky in their kitchen. She tried to imagine them in ten years time. A lot can happen in ten years. It was a whole lifetime away. A lifetime she would never experience.

_ They were supposed to grow old together. _

With one final blink and a ghostly squeeze of his hand, Clara Oswald closed her eyes for one last time.

And everything she was, everything she could've been, everything she had left to say, was gone and forgotten in a single heartbeat.


	11. 23rd November 2013

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter, but I had half of this written and it was absolutely perfect, and just as I was about to finish it to post it on Thursday, the whole thing deleted. So I had to start over. There is a reference to a quote made in chapter two, see if you can spot it! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews (sorry for the crying), especially my latest reviewers: sillysouffle, JasmineThomas, Foeseeker, Socks7, bloomingredroses, ANewWorld, OhMyStarsShiz, I-DreamedTheDream, ImpossibleClara9, sassywriterchick, Dede42, orchids117, Abby0512x, xandrota, RainingOnTheParade, Anonalways, Mireborn, The War Doctor, Someone, , DancingWithTheDoctor, Guest, dragonrider2345 and the lovely NoLongerAGuest. I'm really sorry I couldn't respond to reviews this time around – I promise to on this chapter. As always, lovely to hear from each and every one of you and reviews means the world! **

** Chapter Eleven: 23****rd**** November 2013**

_31 years old_

Everything was moving.

Everything was loud.

Everything faded in and out of view.

The dance music filled the entire three floors of the nightclub and flooded out onto the street. The stool on which the Doctor sat at the bar was rocking with the rhythm of rave beats, the pointless lyrics passing through his ears without much thought, his entire surroundings a blur. All he could see was his glass, fully drained apart from the ice at the bottom. The smoke machine stung his nostrils; the strobe lighting caused him to squint. But it was okay. It distracted him from another kind of pain.

He held up his glass, the ice tapping against the side. "Another one. Make sure you double the whiskey."

The bartender was a good looking young man, probably a student, who snatched the glass away from the Doctor. "I doubled it last time," he snapped.

"Then triple it. Just put more in."

All around him, the faceless people laughed and danced in their young-spirited way. He tried to block out the stolen kisses, the whispered promises and the offers of taxis home by slamming his open palm against his forehead. Just behind his eyes he could see her, and every time he opened them, he felt the delusional spark of hope that he could see flick of her brown hair passing into the next corridor. The sound of her laugh from afar. She kept running away from him, with every passing second. He'd given up on chasing her.

He was alerted to someone sitting beside him when the parallel bar stool creaked. The Doctor didn't look up to see who it was – he didn't care. No one knew him here, and that was just how he liked it. He was falling apart and no one even glanced his way.

"We were supposed to grow old together," he murmured, to himself rather than anyone else. He didn't really know the difference anymore.

As the bartender handed him his drink, the man beside him turned around. He studied the Doctor a few seconds, sizing him up, loudly judging him in his mind_. What a mess_, he was probably saying, _what a pathetic excuse of a human being_. Instead, he barked, "You what, mate?"

Now aware he had an audience, the Doctor decided to explain. He knew this stranger had no interest, he knew this stranger probably thought he was crazy. One of those creepy drunk men too old to be in a nightclub, drinking their weight in spirits. But someone was listening, and that was all that mattered.

"You see, that's how it works," he started, spinning his drink in his hand. "The fairytale ending. I didn't know her when she was young, so we couldn't grow up together. That always annoyed us. We resolved to grow old together instead. That was our marriage. But look at me? Am I old? No, I'm not. So where is she?"

The bartender and the stranger shared a long look. The stranger pushed his stool away from the Doctor, and ignored him with his shoulder. "Right, okay," he said, measuredly.

He turned to fully face him now. After all, what did the Doctor have to lose? "You think I'm crazy," he acknowledged. "That's what heartbreak does to you. Maybe you should try it."

Something in those words spurred a flight of anger in the unconcerned man. He sighed and shook his head. "Alright, mate, but I think we've al been heartbroken before, so –"

"Nah," the Doctor interrupted. "I don't mean heartbroken as in a sudden divorce or – or losing your favourite possession. I mean earth-shattering, end of your entire world, heart broken. Heartbreak that rocks you right here" – he clasped his fist to his chest, directly over his heart and pulled on his baggy top – "and it _never_ goes away. Do you know what today is?"

The stranger had his attention now. "By the state of you, I'm guessing an anniversary," he commented, in a tired tone.

"Yes. An Anniversary. Of the day she died." There was an unnatural pause, and uneasy intake of breath and a shattering frown from the Doctor. He continued, unable to stop now, despite noticing how uncomfortable the stranger was. His voice shook as he said, "A year ago today, I was happy. I had a beautiful wife and a job and a baby girl and the makings of a perfect life, and one of those things was taken from me. My wife was hit by a car and died_. She died_. And you know what?" He paused, as if one of them would answer. They didn't. He gripped his glass harder, crushed it into his hand, willing it to break. "It's really all my fault_. I didn't fix the fucking car_. If I had've fixed the fucking car, she wouldn't have needed to walk home. Do you ever look back at something and realise the significance?"

He looked back at his glass again, stared into the melting ice. He heard the bar stool scratching over the floor as the stranger made a run for it. Anything to avoid the crazy heartbroken man.

"Sometimes things are hidden in plain sight," the Doctor muttered, once more to himself. "And when you're lonely, when you're crying out for help, no one is there. No one is there to pick up the pieces. The one person who should've been there isn't."

The bartender, who had previously looked upon the Doctor in distaste, was wearing a different expression. His eyes were wider, a hint of sorrow in how he blinked. He finished cleaning the martini glass and replaced it with a shot glass. He filled it up to the top with vodka, and passed it across to the Doctor.

"Another one, mate? On the house."

As he stared at the small shot holder, he smiled at a distant memory. A faint memory. One barely there anymore, but one he shared with her. He took it in his hand and held it up to the light, just how they had done all those years previously. If she could see him now.

"A toast to those left behind, eh?" he murmured.

And he downed the shot in one.

Half and hour later and three more drinks, and the Doctor thought it was time to go home. He skirted between the dancing couples and the gossiping friends, his feet dragging and his head spinning. He stumbled down the steps and into the ground floor of the club, and that was when he saw her.

She was sitting in a booth on her own in the corner, texting on her phone. Her hair was shoulder length, the perfect shade of brown, and her lips were pulled up in a familiar smirk. The Doctor's heart lurched. He'd been seeing her for months, here and there, the odd shadow when he was alone, her voice travelling down the street. Now and again he'd catch a full glance but then she would be lost among the crowd. But this, this had never happened before. She was sitting there, in the booth, in full view.

With his chest heaving and tears in his eyes he pushed through the gangs of people to reach her. She couldn't disappear, not now. Not like she always did. He'd waited long enough and she'd come back – she'd actually come back.

"Clara!" he shouted over the music. It was the first time he'd said her name in a few weeks, and it felt like a burst of relief. "_Clara_!"

He grabbed her arm, full of enthusiasm, so that she would look up and see him.

And then his heart fell a thousand feet.

It was like losing her all over again.

This girl wasn't Clara. She looked completely different. The disappointment was overwhelming. Every rational thought left his mind, every little bit of common sense he had left. His ears rushed with the sound of his blood pumping through his veins and his crying eyes clouded over, lost in a distant memory.

He didn't realise the girl was shouting at him, trying to hit him, or that her rather furious boyfriend was pushing him away. He was rooted in the spot, consumed in his own emotional pain.

Until the first punch hit him squarely in the face.

The Doctor buckled and fell back, but was promptly caught by two of the angry boyfriend's friends. They held him as he punched, and the Doctor didn't even attempt to struggle. He barely registered where they were hitting him, what they were saying. He welcomed the oncoming unconsciousness.

However, the bouncers interrupted. They split up the fight. They carried the Doctor and threw him out onto the street, where he lay, barely able to get up again. The world faded and the blackness engulfed him.

* * *

Rose was looking after Sky again. She spent most of her time taking care of the little girl now, especially since the Doctor tended to drift in and out of the house without much of a warning. She sympathised with him, she really did, but a large part of her resented how selfish he was being. He was drinking again, giving David, her husband, unnecessary stress and causing Rose to take time off her own job to babysit _his_ child. Not that she minded taking care of little Sky – the baby seemed to adore her. Some appreciation would have been nice.

She knew that the Doctor couldn't stand staying in the family home too long. Rose had made residence in the spare room in order to help him out, but it wasn't Rose who he wanted. The whole building brought back too many memories for him, memories he couldn't reflect on yet. Memories that still hurt.

When she walked down the stairs that morning, bobbing Sky in her arms, what she didn't expect to see was the Doctor, her brother in law, lying face down in the hallway, a trickle of blood beside his head.

Sky started to scream in Rose's arms, reaching out to her father and trying to kick free. Rose ran down the remaining steps and carefully placed Sky on the rug, kissing her head to calm her down. She kneeled beside the Doctor, slowly turning him over to get a better look. His face was swollen, his lip split and bleeding, and his eyes blinked up at her, barely seeing Rose at all.

"Doctor, Doctor, listen to me!" Rose yelled, shaking him. "Say something, can you hear me? What happened?"

His lips wobbled, but it took him a few attempts before his words were clear. "Fight. Bar fight."

"Why the hell were you involved in a bar fight?!" Rose shrieked.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, his limbs dragging to support his weight. "Thought I saw," he started, giving a loud sniff. "Clara. I thought I saw her."

"Again?" snapped Rose. "Doctor, you've got to stop this. You're not seeing Clara. You can't see Clara – she's dead. And it's about time you got that in that thick skull of yours before you end up doing something stupid and leaving poor little Sky fatherless as well as motherless!"

It was harsh, but it was the truth. After a year it was about time everyone stopped wrapping the truth in cotton wool. He looked over to his daughter, staring at him with wide brown eyes from the rug, her mouth slightly open. His face faltered for a moment, and then his hand found Rose's arm and he gripped it hard. "I _am_ seeing her," he insisted, tearing up again, his voice croaking. "_I am seeing her_, Rose; you've got to believe me!"

"They're echoes, Doctor, just echoes. You're seeing echoes of her because you miss her. But that's all they are. The real Clara is gone. And you can't accept that. You can't accept a world without her, so you're convincing yourself she's still here." Rose could feel her own façade breaking, but she tried to keep it together. Taking a steady breath, she gestured to Sky. "_That_ is your daughter and you are responsible for her life. What would Clara say if she could see you now? If she could see the way you're treating your daughter?"

A sob ripped from him, and he buried his face in his hands, pulling his knees up to his head like a child. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry. I know what I'm doing. I'm sorry."

"She is the only part of Clara you have left," Rose beseeched, urging him to listen. Maybe she was finally getting through to him. She pulled on his arm, trying to help him up. His legs wobbled and he nearly fell to the side, but Rose kept a good hold on him. She sighed and look to Sky, realising there was only one thing for it. "Come on. I'm taking you to see your father. David said this might happen."

She wasn't sure if he wasn't listening anymore, or he didn't feel the need to respond, but once he was steadily on his feet again, he bent down to pick up Sky, encasing her in a shaky hug. "I'm sorry, Sky," he whispered, looking at her without really seeing her. "I'm not a very good father without your mother. In fact, I'm not a very good person without her. I'm barely here at all."

Rose ushered him away, taking the quiet child from his arms. She cleaned his face and brushed his hair before she bundled him into the car to take him to his father. David said that if Rose saw too much, if she didn't know what else to do, that the only person who could talk some sense into him would be their father. She didn't know what he meant, but she trusted her husband's judgement. The Doctor's rationality was gone, and the only person who could clear his head was never coming back. It was time for someone else to try.

It was almost as if Mr Smith had been expecting it all along. He ushered Rose and his son into the house and accepted Sky with a loving kiss to her forehead. He convinced the Doctor to stay with him for a few days, to let Rose get back to where she belonged, insisting he was perfectly capable to keep an eye on Sky. Rose was grateful, and when she was about to leave, promised to visit now and again over the next few days to make sure everything was still running smoothly.

Later that day, the Doctor dined with his father while Sky played in her playpen. As the Doctor nudged his food around his plate, Mr Smith made a move. It was the first time they'd properly talked since Sky was born.

"Your face…"

"It sort of collided with a fist."

"I see."

Silence.

"John, is this going to be a regular occurrence? Is your face going to collide with a fist every twenty-third of November?"

Glancing up, the Doctor realised it was a serious question. His father was trying to help him. He struggled with himself a few moments, before saying, "Who knows. Your guess is as good as mine."

"No, actually, it's better," his father retorted, almost rounding on him. "It may have escaped your attention, son, but you're not the only man in this room to have lost their wife. The circumstances may be different, but the pain is all the same. It's universal. So stop feeling sorry for yourself."

The Doctor gaped. An unleashed fury began to rise in his chest. "I'm not feeling sorry for myself! I miss her!"

"Good. It's good that you miss her, because that meant you love her. And through that love she lives on – in your child. You can look in your child's face and remember that the human being looking back at you would not have existed if it hadn't been for that love. She lives on. If you let her."

It took his slow, and tired brain a few minutes to realise that his father was talking from personal experience. A different emotion washed over him in that moment – something close to pity. His father had experience this pain, the burning regret in his chest, weighing him down, and he had faced it on his own. The Doctor certainly hadn't been around. He'd been consumed in his own small piece of personal pity. And here his father was, staring back at him, with so much strength, sorrow and passion. He had never felt a greater respect for his father than right now.

"How did you…" he started, the words lost in silent gasp. "How _do_ you cope?"

His father looked down at his plate. "You don't. It doesn't get easier. You miss her everyday, and everyday the feeling gets worse. You end up latching onto it, because sometimes, when you're at your most alone, it's the only thing that reminds you she really existed."

The Doctor brushed away the noiseless tears streaming down his cheeks. "Then why do you go on?"

"You go on because she can't," the older man said bluntly. "You live for her. You live like she's still around, and the sooner you face that, the better life will be." He let out a hollow laugh. "What do you think I've been doing for the past few years?"

Father and son, caught in the middle of a mutual understanding – perhaps the only thing they'd had in common, all of their lives – shared a long moment of silence. Their eyes met, and their sad, teary smiles matched, and then it was gone when Sky called out from the other room.

"She needs a mother as much as she needs a father. Now it's your job to be both," Mr Smith finished, beginning to dig into his dinner again. "After all, she never had the pleasure of knowing Clara Oswald. Someone needs to tell her when she's older. Someone who knew her well."

The Doctor stared in the direction of his daughter, a sudden awkwardness in his limbs as he realised he couldn't quite say what he wanted to. "Do you, I mean" – he stopped to shake his head – "thanks, dad."

Another mutual silence. Then;

"Be quick about finishing your tea. My favourite detective show is coming on in half an hour and I don't want to miss it. You might have to clean your own dishes."

And with that, the Doctor was taught another lesson: life moves on. Not because you want to, but because it has to.

Now all he had to do was eventually accept it.


	12. 23rd November 2017

**A/N: A slight time jump for this chapter! For those of you wondering, there are two short chapters left. Very short chapters. This chapter is also short, but it's leading onto the next, which will become apparent once you've read it. You guys are brilliant, seriously. A big thank you to my wonderful, brilliant, generous reviewers from last time: DancingWithTheDoctor, Guest, bloomingredroses, Socks7, Foeseeker, orchids117, Abby0512x, Oswaldsbowtie, xandrota, BlueGreen216, ThePotterDoctor, NoLongerAGuest, ImpossibleClara9, Dede42 and the lovely dragonrider2345.**

** Chapter Twelve: 23****rd**** November 2017**

_35 years old _

"Come on, Daddy! We're going to be late!"

The Doctor chuckled as he traipsed through the long grass, his heavy backpack weighing him down. He watched as Sky darted through the overgrown greenery, her little arms helping her along the way. The blades of grass were almost as tall as her.

"We can't be late for a _hill_, Sky," he called, trying to catch up. "Hills don't make appointments."

She spun around to lookup at her father, her shining brown eyes wide with horror. "But what if the icecream melts?"

He shook his backpack. "I'm prepared. I'm always prepared. I have it in a cooler."

Sky waited until the Doctor caught up, so that he could wrap his arm around her for support as they started to climb the hill. He sighed with the effort, his muscles straining against the weight on his back, but he somehow managed to keep his eyes focused on the upwards stretch. It was a glorious day; the sun was shining despite the time of year, and the autumnal leaves were breezing through the biting wind, sweeping around their feet. It brought back distant memories of his university days, after all, he hadn't been here since his graduation.

The city hadn't changed much since then – only the residence had aged. The city was timeless. Only a few moderations littered the streets – Café Nero's had replaced old cafes, for example, and the ancient library had been renovated. But the streets he had walked down, at the gullible age of eighteen, were exactly the same, not a stone different. Now he walked along with his daughter, on this infamous day placed onto their lives, a completely different man than he was before. Way back when he was eighteen and walked this same path, he imaged that his life would be very different at his current age. He was looking to the future. Now, he was looking at the past, and how different his real future had been. Was he disappointed? Well, it was a tough question to answer as a fully grown man. If he had the benefit of hindsight as an eighteen year old, the answer would be simple.

Perhaps Sky would walk through the university when she was eighteen, thinking the same thing as him. What if she attended his university, met a nice guy, to which she either would spend the rest of her life with, or encounter a serious heartbreak? He shook such thoughts from his mind. Maybe it was better not to look to the future, after all. Perhaps it was better to stay away from the past. Live for the moment, the present, and all it was giving you now.

The Doctor reckoned if Clara was still with him, he'd have a very different outlook on the future.

This was his life now and he had to accept it.

Sky ran up to the top of the hill, a little bit before her father. Her mouth opened in awe as she stared out at the view, the scenery and old city as a breath taking picture. "Wow!" she shouted, leaning down to pull on her father's hand so he would quicken his pace. "Daddy look!"

"I know," he whispered, finally reaching the summit. "It's astounding."

"And this is where you met Mummy?" Sky asked, peering up at the Doctor. "Right here?"

It flooded back to him, in that moment, exactly why he had returned to this exact hill. On this exact day. Those words his only daughter said had hurt, more than he cared to show. Hurt him right in his chest, where the constant ache still resided. He rested his hand on Sky's shoulder and looked down at their feet, and the exact spot on which they were standing. It wasn't until he studied every word in the book Clara had given him, that he realised the date they met matched the date she died. Somehow, in the grand scheme of the universe, the dark irony of the situation inspired him to retrace their steps.

"Actually, we met in a" – he stopped himself from saying the word 'pub' as he met Sky's persistent gaze – "yes, we came here. This was where he got to know each other. Late at night, watching the stars, waiting on our future. Feels like such a long time ago now."

"Did you love her then?"

Such innocent questions, tainted with the adult world. The Doctor held onto Sky tightly, offering her a soft smile. "I always loved her. Even when I didn't know her."

Sky's little face frowned. "How can you love someone without knowing them?"

The Doctor chuckled and shook his head. "You've never had the pleasure of properly knowing your mother, have you Sky? And you still love her."

"Oh. I didn't think of that before." She smiled then, and took his hand, pulling him down onto the grass. They sat side by side, just as he and Clara had sat there, all those years previously. He couldn't help but fall silent for a few moments, reminiscing over the first day they spent together. Literally a life time ago. Now he was looking up at the cold sun in the sky, with the stars completely gone, on the other side of a daydream.

"One thing you'll learn more and more as you grow up, Sky, is that love is mysterious," he said, shrugging off his coat so that his daughter could lie on it. "Sometimes it's not fair, sometimes it's unexpected, sometimes it hurts – but no matter what, it's always real. It will always exist. And if you hold onto that, whatever happens tomorrow or the next day or the day after, it will make you happy. It will remind you of what is important."

Sky cuddled into his side as they lay on the grass, her head resting on his chest. She closed her eyes and soaked in the sun, a content grin on her lips. "Can you tell me more about Mummy, Daddy?"

"What would you like to know?"

"Anything."

He had always tried to fit Clara into their lives as if she was still there. He'd shown Sky countless pictures, homemade videos, retold stories upon stories. But there was one he had yet to tell.

"How about I tell you of the time we spent on this hill and the day that followed? Our first day together. How does that sound?"

"Will it make you sad?"

"No," he lied, "it'll make me… happy."

"Okay. Yes, please."

"Okay…" the Doctor took a deep breath and also closed his eyes, transporting them back in time to the beginning of the greatest adventure. "On this exact spot, when your mother and I were the age of twenty one, we thought we had the whole world ahead of us. The future was ours for the taking. I'd seen her around for most of my time at university, but never had the courage to talk to her. Then, that night, after a bit of encouragement from your uncle Jack, I decided it was time to make a move. We started talking, and after a few hours, when I was walking her home, we spotted this hill. It was a completely clear night, the stars were shining and we were… well, we thought it would be a good idea to spend the early hours of the morning stargazing. And then –"

He stopped, his voice dying in his throat.

"And then?" prompted Sky.

"And then it was the beginning of everything," said the Doctor.

* * *

Note: Next chapter will go back to the beginning and resolve what happened on the first full day the Doctor and Clara spent together. I hope you enjoyed! As ever, reviews make my day and are always appreciated. Thank you for the continued support!


	13. 23rd November 2003 Part II

**A/N: Penultimate chapter! Remember I said that we had yet to see the Doctor and Clara's first kiss? Well, it happened in this chapter, before life got in the way of them. A big thank you to all of the wonderful reviewers from last time, sorry about the delay: ImpossibleClara9, saharajohanson, Guess Who, orchids117, DancingWithTheDoctor, Foeseeker, Sassywriterchick, ThePurpleFrockCoat, JasmineThomas, jacks marie, Dede42 and the lovely Abby0512x! Last chapter next time takes the form of a letter. Hope you enjoy! **

** Chapter Thirteen: 23****rd**** November 2003**

_21 years old_

She woke up in his arms, in a room she didn't recognise.

Clara felt a jolt of surprise at the unusual surroundings; the bed was white, the curtains draped elegantly across the window, books upon books stacked neatly on the shelves in front of posters of the universe. It came back to her, rather slowly, why she was lying on top of the bed beside the boy she had met the night previously. She couldn't help but smile when she remembered how they had watched the stars before he offered her to stay at his flat to get some sleep – an offer which had him tumbling over his words.

They wanted to spend the day together. Make up for lost time.

And here they were sleeping the day away.

"Oi!" Clara said in a loud whisper, leaning over the sleeping, drooling figure of the Doctor. "Wake up, sleepyhead!"

He stirred, his floppy hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes blinked at his pillow, and in a realisation so slow and comical, he followed the length of his arm to where it reached out towards Clara. He jumped away from her like an electrical surge had passed between them. Scratching the back of his neck and grimacing, he said, "Sorry, I was – yes, right. Last night. Yes. Of course. Sorry."

Clara crossed her legs and raised her eyebrows, her hand resting under her chin as she pointedly gazed at him. He brushed back his hair and shuffled back to the bed, staring at Clara as if she was an unknown specimen.

"Nice room," Clara started, trying to break his silence. "And you call _this_ a student flat?"

He shrugged. "Mum and Dad bought it for me." Then, his eyes widened and his hand slapped himself across the side of his face. "Mum and Dad! Oh god, I completely forgot!"

"Forgot what?"

His gaze was full of guilt, remorse, and just a little bit of trepidation. "I was a bit drunk last night. I forgot that my parents are coming over later this afternoon."

"Oh." Clara felt all of her happiness and warmth from last night leak out of a twinge of regret in her stomach. She moved to the edge of the bed, avoiding his gaze. Her words were flat. "Listen, if you don't want to do something today, it's fine. We were both a bit drunk, a bit excited. You don't need to make up an excuse."

It took him a few seconds to realise what she was saying. "No! No!" He twisted around to reach for his bedside calendar, where the date was marked with red. The Doctor touched her shoulder so she would look at it. "See, look! Genuine mistake. I just got carried away, that's all." As her eyes roamed over the circled number, he continued, "We'll make most of the time we have left. Promise. Then, maybe…"

"Maybe?" Clara prompted with a little smile.

"Maybe, if you want to, we could – I don't know – go out again. Some other time. When we're both free. If you want. You mightn't, and that's fine too. Well, it's fine but it wouldn't make me happy. But I –"

Clara closed her hand around his to stop his endless babbling. "Listen. That sounds great. Now, how many hours do we have?"

He checked his clock. "Three."

"Three. Okay. Three." She looked down at her clothes from last night, the ones she had fallen asleep wearing. "Whatever we do," she said, "I'll have to get changed first."

"Understandable." He nodded, still appearing a little shy. His chin ducked and his eyes stopped on her face a bit too long, which made him glance away and blush. He cleared his throat and clapped his fidgety hands together. "Breakfast. I'm taking you out for breakfast. How does that sound?"

Smiling, Clara raised her eyebrows. "Doctor, it's not even morning anymore."

It was the first time she'd said his name, and he found a sudden warmth lighting in his chest. He did his best at matching her cheeky grin, but it felt mismatched to his face. What was wrong with him? Why was he so flustered? He wasn't this bad last night. Maybe he should suggest they have a few drinks again – liquid confidence.

_No_, he told himself, _this feels good, this feels right, I can't let alcohol speak for me_.

"You don't have to wait for breakfast, Clara," he said, in the end, "breakfast waits for you. There's a nice café further in town – serves breakfast all day. Perfect for a hangover."

She watched his green hazel eyes, full of expectant hope and enthusiasm, when suddenly she was hit by how profound and strange this whole situation was. Never before had she clicked with someone so quickly, never before had she felt this inescapable pull towards someone, as if the universe was pushing them together. Above anything, she regretted not talking to him sooner. The opportunity had been there; just neither of them had taken it.

And yet, there was no point looking back and regretting. They had the future to fix, and that was all that mattered. Who knows what would happen – what could happen.

It would all start with breakfast.

* * *

He changed into new clothes in his bedroom, while Clara waited in the small kitchen, leaning against the worktop while taking mental notes of all his bits and bobs. He had little scientific instruments mixed among his kitchen clutter; a soldering iron next to the kettle, a bundle of wires beside the toaster – even a spare part of an engine on top of the fridge. He really was quite the physicist.

When he emerged a few minutes later, dressed in a plain blue shirt and jeans, Clara automatically beamed at him. He looked so handsome. She bit her lip, rather conscious she was appearing too enthusiastic. The Doctor insisted on walking her home, otherwise she probably would've managed herself home by now. He offered her his coat because, despite it being a sunny November day, the wind was bitterly cold. Clara, due to politeness, was going to refuse, but as the Doctor opened the door to his apartment and a gust of shivering air travelled over the both of them, she quickly changed her mind. He gave her a beige tweed blazer which she draped over her shoulders and pulled around her waist, and pretended not to notice the smug smile on his lips and the glint in his eye.

"So you live on your own then?" Clara asked as they set off down the street, step matching step.

"No, no," he said, staring at the pavement, pretending not to shiver. "I live with Jack. But he doesn't come home very often. Especially after a night out."

"Ah," Clara scrunched her nose up, nodding sympathetically, "I have a similar problem with Nina."

"Nina – it was Nina's party, in accommodation, when I first talked to you. Or, at least, when I first saw you." The Doctor flushed pink when Clara met his gaze, her inquisitive expression making it hard for him to look away.

"That was Fresher's Week, right? First week of university." She squinted, as if it would help her to remember. "Did we talk or…? I can't really seem to –"

"Oh, no. I – well – I said hello, but you were a bit… distracted."

Clara laughed, and out of pure instinct, latched her arm onto his. "I was stuck up. I was very stuck up. New people, new environment, new beginning – it went to my head a bit. Everyone was boosting my ego."

"Oh," the Doctor said, feeling a strange sense of relief. "So you ignored everyone?"

"Most people I hadn't already met that week, yes." She turned around, pulling his arm to a stop, so that she could face him on the street. "I'm sorry – about ignoring you. But I'm a changed person. I'm reformed. I'm no longer an egomaniac."

"Well, if it's any consolation, Clara Oswald, you are the nicest egomaniac I've ever met." He laughed as she lightly shoved his arm, before the continued up the street together, this time Clara walking slightly ahead of him as her flat came into view.

Clara's flat was very different from the Doctor's, he noticed, as she led him into her small hall. Everything was perfectly neat, tidy, clean, without a single thing out of place. Clara could hear voices in the kitchen, and to avoid any awkward conversations (on both her and Nina's part) she decided to let the Doctor sit in her bedroom while she got changed in the bathroom. It was a small bedroom, with a creaky wooden bed. The walls were painted bright red with fairy lights decorating the bookshelf. Books upon books were piled onto the shelves, some furnished with sticky notes and others destroyed by writing. He flicked through her collections, picking up one or two that caught his attention along the way. When she joined him again, her eyes immediately flicked to the two books he was holding. Something flashed across her eyes, something he couldn't quite place.

"You've got a mini library in here," he joked, gesturing to all of the books.

"Perks of being an English student," she said, looking over to see what he had chosen. "_Ulysses_ by James Joyce and _The Beautiful and Damned_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald." She sounded impressed. "Educated choices, if I do say so."

"_The Beautiful and Damned_, eh?" The Doctor said, smirking. He lifted it up in front of him. "Could be me and you!"

He flushed scarlet at the sudden, and off-hand compliment that neither of them were expecting. Clara's mouth opened slightly, her eyebrows raised. The Doctor turned away from her, towards the window, and left the books on her desk. Clara leaned over to retrieve them, laughing slightly to diffuse the sudden electric tension in the room. "Which one is which, though?" she teased.

The Doctor was smiling again as he turned around. He watched as she carefully placed her books back into their original positions, her finger trailing lightly over the others, just making sure they were all in order. The Doctor snorted.

"Yeah, sorry," she apologised. "I like all my books in order. I have a categorical system – took me years to get it right."

"Couldn't you not just sort them in alphabetical order?"

She appeared appalled by the very suggestion. "Absolutely not! I have them in order of semester and year I studied them, and then subcategories after that – mainly based on genre, or theme. If it's a particularly big subcategory, then year of publication comes into play. But that only happens in shelf three and four." On a sarcastic note, she added, "If you're still interested in my book OCD."

_I'd honestly be interested in anything you had to say_, he wanted to tell her, but the words died on his lips. Instead, he maintained the conversation of literature, deciding to keep the light hearted tone to tease her further. "I bet you're one of those English students who always insists that _the book is better_." He grinned as he saw her try and hide her expression with her hair. "Oh, you are, aren't you?"

"Okay, before you say anything –"

"I am _so_ right."

"Doctor." She held onto his arms to stop his smug gloating, her eyes shining with humour. "Before you begin happy dancing or whatever you're about to do – let me explain. Books are always better. Plays, well, sometimes, _plays_ are a different story."

He shuffled closer to her, enraptured by this shared moment. "Can I confess something? I love a good Shakespearean play."

"You do?"

"I do."

"Hm," she said, trying not to give him the impressed smile she wanted. "I think they're overrated. If you want a good, historical play without needless verse and technicality, I'd recommend _The Crucible_. But, of course –"

"I've already read it," he shot back, the smug expression resting once again on his face. Clara huffed. She didn't like this. He was trying to outsmart her on books – that wasn't supposed to happen.

"In fact…" he continued. "I have it on DVD. The movie."

Clara crossed her arms over her waist. "I bet it's not as good as the play."

"I bet you'd like it." He raised his eyebrows, silently challenging her. "And you know, it's back in my flat. If you're interested."

Clara considered him a moment. "What happened to breakfast?"

"I'll tell you what. We'll go to Tesco, pick up a few nibbles. Watch _The Crucible_, and if you _do_ like it –"

"I won't."

"I get to buy you breakfast for a month."

Laughing, Clara moved away from him slightly. "How is that fair?"

"I think it's a pretty fair deal," he argued. "You get that breakfast which was promised to you and I…"

"And you?" she prompted.

"I get to see you every day for an entire month without an excuses or interruptions." He shot her a cheeky wink. "Truly make up for lost time."

Clara blinked for a few moments as she wondered if this was really the Doctor, or some flirty façade he was trying to put on to impress her. Deep down, she knew this was the real deal, and if filled her with a hopeless excitement that she had to flick away, or she feared she would be hurt. After a moment, she reached out her hand for him to shake, promising, "Deal."

"Deal," he confirmed, accepting her hand.

* * *

It took them half an hour to shop for nibbles, since (as Clara learnt quickly) the Doctor was a rather fussy eater and it seemed impossible for him to make a quick decision. Realising time was tight; they ran around the corner to his flat, laughing as they stumbled on the rocky pavements and nearly dropping their shopping every time they tripped.

Just as his flat came into view, the Doctor came to an abrupt stop. His hand slipped from Clara's and his eyes widened, and Clara swiftly noticed he was staring at a flashy blue car pulled up outside the block of apartments.

"No…" he whispered, more to himself than to Clara.

As if on cue, two older people wandered out of the entrance, looked down the street and waved at him. The Doctor swore, glancing sideways at his companion, who merely frowned at him.

"John!" the woman called cheerily, continuing to wave.

"Mum!" he shouted back, a lot less cheerful. His shoulders fell as he took a few more steps closer to the drive, a hand subconsciously fixing his hair. "You're early. Very early."

"Well, we thought you'd be" – it was then that his mother realised Clara was beside him, and for a split second, her expression faltered – "oh, we didn't think – we didn't think you'd have company."

Now it was the Doctor and Clara facing Mr and Mrs Smith in the driveway, Clara standing awkwardly at the Doctor's side, and the Doctor blushing at the intense stare of his father. Not very sure how to move past the tense silence, the Doctor started, "Mum, Dad, this is Clara. A – well, a… girl from uni."

"Clara," Mrs Smith said happily. "Would you like to join us for lunch?"

"Ah," Clara returned the smile, gaze flicking from son to parents. "Thank you for the offer, but I haven't even had breakfast yet! I – um, I mean…"

She cringed as she realised the implications. Abruptly turning to the Doctor, she announced, "Well, I better go. It was lovely meeting your family. But I should…"

"If you're sure," he put in. "You don't have to."

"But I have that thing to do. You know. That thing." She started to back away down towards the gate, the disappointment echoing in her stomach. "I guess I'll see you around. Some day. Soon, maybe."

The Doctor was fully frowning now. He could not longer hide it. "Yeah. I hope so."

She paused, still unsure how to proceed. She gave a short wave to the Doctor's parents, and then to the Doctor before she turned her back on the three of them and started to walk in the direction of her flat, her feet trailing slightly across the pebbled pavement.

It was then that his mum closed the distance between them. She took his hand in both of her own, and said gently, "Go after her. She seems like a nice girl."

Beaming, the Doctor gave a single nod and sucked in a deep breath. He ignored his father's piercing stare, instead focussing on his mother and her encouraging smile. Turning on his heel, he started to walk with hurried footsteps down the street, where he could see Clara's head bobbing further and further away from him. He started to run, fearing if he didn't catch her now that he mightn't see her again. He called her name, but she didn't hear him. He called it a second time, louder.

She spun around, her hair whipping around her face. She appeared quite shocked to see him chasing after her.

"Clara, I'm sorry," the Doctor said, out of breath, as he stopped directly in front of her. "There always seems to be things getting in the way between you and me."

She laughed with a sparkle in her eye the Doctor hadn't seen before. "Hopefully it doesn't become the story of our lives!" she joked.

And it was then, in that moment when they both realised they wanted the same thing but the timing was wrong and so unfair, that their lips somehow found the other's. The Doctor gripped her waist, and Clara's hand held the back of his neck as she stood on her toes to reach him. It was as if time stood still – this once in their lives, and only this once, time obeyed them, and they followed suit, reacting on an impulse that time could never take away from them.

It was the sweetest kiss either of them would ever know.

When they broke apart, far too soon, their eyes met and they laughed in embarrassed amusement. Stuttering to a start, the Doctor pulled out his chunky mobile phone as if it was his lifeline, and asked, "Can I have your mobile number? So I can –"

"I don't have one," Clara confessed. "But you can have my telephone number. Or just pop around and see me at my address in the future. You know where I live now. That's fine too."

"Right, great! If you don't mind?"

"I'd love you to!"

They laughed again at their words, at the light-hearted dizzying meaning behind them. Reluctantly, the Doctor started taking small steps backwards, and noticing this, Clara did the same in the opposite direction. When the distance between them became too much, the Doctor said;

"So I'll definitely see you again, won't I? This isn't the last time I'll see you?"

"No, I promise." Clara smirked and held up her hand, as if in surrender. "You'll definitely see me again, Doctor."

Just before he had to turn his back on her, the Doctor stopped to give a small wave. "Goodbye, Clara Oswald."

Still beaming, with her cheeks slightly pink, Clara turned around first. In her cheeriest, happiest voice, she called, "Goodbye, Doctor! Goodbye."


	14. Afterword, date unknown

**A/N: Last chapter, so just a few things I'd like to say. Firstly, thank you so much for the support, not only on this story, but all my stories – it means the world to me, and the beyond if I could reach it. I'd really recommend reading this all over again to catch up on any hidden messages I may have missed (or along with the soundtrack I'm going to post on tumblr!). As for what I'm writing in the future – I'm going to take one or two weeks of a break, because I can feel my writing streak slipping at the minute which is probably a sign I need a rest. Soon, though, very soon, I will upload the first chapter of the sequel to ****_Politics of the Heart_****, if that's still something everyone is interested in. It's currently unnamed, but if you follow me as an author you'll be automatically updated on it, and I'm also going to add a little note on the already completed story of the last fic as well. Once again, you've all been wonderful and I hope to hear from some of you in the future! **

** Chapter Fourteen: Afterword, ****_date unknown _**

The Doctor kept the book. After all this time, it was his most treasured possession.

But it took him years before he could finish it. Specifically, it took him years to respond to Clara's letter. It wasn't until he was alone on a cold Wednesday, staring at the paint drying in the corner of his watercolour canvas, before he found the words, and the strength, to respond.

_To my Clara, _

_ It's been too many years since I last saw your face and it feels like an eternity since I last heard you laugh. I am missing you every single day, and the ache in my heart has never faded. Time has moved on – I have wrinkles to prove it, but I have always loved you. Always. It's the only consistency in my life. Everything else has changed. Your father was right about that._

_ You never had the chance to give me this book in person, but I want you to know that you were right. I _did_ read it before Christmas, and you _do_ know me better than anyone. Know that I have adored the memories on these pages, and every single letter, photograph or handwritten word has kept you alive in my heart when I needed reminding that you existed to begin with. Sometimes your memory seems too good to be true, and I'm left wondering if I'm under some sort of nightmarish delusion. In short, this book has kept me grounded, it's given me support and it has kept me warm when I've felt alone. _

_ Now that the book is full, without a single space within these pages, I finally plucked up the courage to respond to your letter. Just as this book started with a letter, this book will end with one. With my letter. The first half shares our memories together, the second half shows the memories you missed. And that still breaks my heart. _

_ I continued the work you started, and recorded our daughter growing up – stage after stage. Now that she is starting her own family, she had her own book. A sequel, of sorts. I want you to know that she's the very image of you, and she followed in your footsteps and became a teacher. A teacher of physics, admittedly, but it was only fair she echoed a part of my personality. At least it was only the good part. _

_ As a retired old man who spends his days painting pictures of a happier time, I hold out on the hope that we will meet again. I know we will – in some shape or form. We'll always find each other, you and me. Not even time will stop us. And if I could say just one more thing to you, just one word, it would be a location. The location to our next adventure, whether that be through time or space of any form of impossibility. I'd meet you there the long way around. _

_ I may be lonely, but I'm not alone. I can still feel you in my heart. I see you in Sky's eyes almost every day, and sometimes, if I listen hard enough, I imagine I can hear your voice. _

_ Maybe I am delusional. But if this is delusion, then I'm happy with it, especially since no delusion means that you're not there. _

_ You will always be my wife, and I will love you forever. _

_ Goodbye, Clara Oswald. _

_ Miss ya. _

_P.S. This note is to you, the person reading this. If I could give you one piece of advice as to how to live your life it would be this: love, and be loved, if you ever have the chance. For better or for worse, it's the ultimate adventure. _


End file.
